Academic Affairs
by CRMediaGal
Summary: Hermione is in her third year at university when she's tasked with taking a class with the impossible-to-please Professor Snape. Unfortunately, he's not only frustrating and infuriating but also unpredictable and strangely attractive. How will she survive the term? How will Snape survive, too? Requested prompt from snxpe. Muggle AU/Non-Hogwarts.
1. Volume I

**A/N: At the beginning of the summer, I was asked to do a Muggle AU-inspired prompt courtesy of snxpe from Tumblr. I was happy to accept her request as well as some of the items she wanted her prompt to include. I've also changed a couple of them, too, such as making Hermione a little older and further into her studies than initially suggested, but hopefully these changes are minor in the grand scheme of things... **

**To snxpe: I sincerely hope this short story meets with your expectations. I'm sorry it took me much longer than anticipated to get the first half of it up and posted, but hopefully seeing your prompt fully fulfilled will be worth the wait. :)**

**To anyone else who chooses to follow along: Thank you for your interest and giving this story (and me) a chance! :)**

**Lastly, I welcome your feedback! Without your thoughts, it isn't worth sharing. **

_**Many thanks, as always, to my wonderful beta, Brittny, for taking one for the team and looking over yet another story of mine so that the rest of you don't have to be subjected to my glaring errors. Also, special thanks must go to my Scottish friend, Janette, for all of her immense help in getting my UK university settings correct.  
**_

**Disclaimer: _Harry Potter_ is copyrighted to and belongs to JK Rowling. I'm just playing in her sandbox. No money, just fun. Artwork is credited to Bodler.**

* * *

**Prompter:** snxpe  
**Beta:** Brittny  
**Warning(s):** Mild Language  
**Prompt:** Muggle AU. Hermione is a university student and Severus has become her professor. How do they grow friendly? How does their relationship evolve? To be included: fluff, a little bit of angst, and a hurdle to overcome. (I chose to include more than one.)

_**Academic Affairs**_

**Volume I**

**By CRMediaGal**

* * *

Hermione mentally checked off the list in her head for probably the eighteenth time that morning. Binder. _Check._ Three brand new pens: red, black, navy. _Check._ Two uncontaminated notepads. _Check._ Wednesday's schedule with building locations, room numbers, and times of classes. _Check._ Assigned book list._ Check._ _Well, for the first class. The second, or lack thereof..._ Unassigned books. _Che—_

Suddenly, an obnoxious twat slammed into Hermione from behind, spilling at least half of her freshly brewed hot coffee onto the walkway. She gasped and startled, sidestepping in order to prevent any of the hot liquid from splashing her front rather than the concrete.

"Blast!" she fumed and glared daggers at the daft idiot responsible for not watching where he treaded. "Watch where you're going," she exclaimed as he barrelled past her, "you tosser!"

Like most fools who'd likely overslept on the first day of the new term, the infuriating boy in question was probably in a hurry to get to his eight o'clock class; but, even if that was the case, he twirled around mid-dash to flash her an audacious, pretentious-looking grin.

"Sorry, lass!" he apologised in a cool manner of address, offering Hermione an unwanted wink to boot.

At once, Hermione stopped dead in her tracks, face flushing to the roots of her untameable curly tresses. "Don't - Don't call me that!" she stammered after him, floored by the stranger's imprudence. "I'm _not_ your lass!"

The derisive, shaggy-haired lad shrugged her off and hiked up the steps of the nearest building along the walkway. He quickly disappeared through a pair of glass doors, but Hermione stared on, affronted by the disruption and unraveled by the abrupt loss of concentration to her morning pep talk. She huffed heatedly and reconvened her steady stride to class, repeatedly sending reminders to herself by way of the mental list she'd kept in her head.

Today would mark the start of Hermione's third year at university, and the energy on campus that morning was nearly always as predicted: nerve-racking, flighty, tense, and, for some, like Hermione, filled with excitement and anxious anticipation.

Swiftly forgetting that smug prat who'd nearly sent her toppling over onto the pavement, Hermione smiled to herself as she made her way across the picturesque Scottish landscape she knew so well, the early signs of autumn beginning to emerge, awakening her senses. Golden and crisp cherry foliage swayed upon every branch of every tree, catching the wind in their wake, whilst some ebbed and gave themselves up to the nip in the breezy September air.

* * *

Hermione's first class of the day went off without a hitch. She'd been pleased to see a sprinkle of familiar faces from last year, though she wouldn't call any of them particularly good mates. It helped that she was already well-acquainted with her History and Philosophy of Science professor, Professor Remus Lupin, whom she'd had for a previous class, so she felt thoroughly prepared; evidently, most of her peers were still in summer mode or that term's reading list had inconveniently slipped their minds. Professor Lupin was a tough but fair instructor and thought highly of Hermione, so she wasn't at all daunted by the demanding syllabus handed out at the beginning of class, unlike the rest of her classmates who griped and moaned under their breaths. She left her eight o'clock class with an extra skip in her step, for reasons entirely unknown to everyone else.

Now, she had a whole hour to kill before her second class of the day. Hermione was somewhat regretting double booking her subjects on the same day, but then, she'd have to see what this second class would entail before drawing any conclusions. If Harry or Ron were with her at the moment, though, they'd _still_ be teasing her about her overbooked schedule.

"Overachiever!" Ron would have mocked her academic prowess, as he had done many a time over the summer hols. Unfortunately for him, Ron didn't have Hermione this morning to swing by and wake him up for his ten o'clock class, so if he didn't make it in time...

_Serves him right_, Hermione snickered to herself and strolled off to purchase a second cup of coffee at the nearest cafe within walking distance.

Hermione had been determined at the end of last term to study more than one subject in her third year, though her advisor had explicitly warned her against doing so, citing that she had the potential to burn herself out. However, having found herself disappointedly shut out of Geological Studies due to lack of space and technological mishaps with booking her classes online, Hermione saw no other alternative—save for adding an additional year of academic study onto her belt, something her parents would never have approved—but to opt out of her first choice and go for her second: Plant Sciences.

Ron had thought her 'barking mad' to sign up for such a 'dull' subject. Harry reserved no opinion for or against her choice of study; or so she thought she'd remembered correctly. Hermione was more grateful to him than the former.

Admittedly, it wasn't _exactly_ a subject that satisfied her insane thirst for learning nor was it likely to keep her up late at night pondering its importance and vitality, but Hermione knew it would be engaging enough to at least retain her interest, provided her instructor wasn't too much of a bore. She suspected he wouldn't be, if the rumours she'd heard about him beforehand were at all close to the truth.

After grabbing her second cup of coffee, Hermione halted en route to her Plant Sciences class to rearrange her belongings. She was accustomed to carrying a ridiculous amount of books and supplies around with her at all times, so the few eyebrow raising stares she received from other students at the cafe weren't unfamiliar.

Afterwards, Hermione set off slowly down a small hill, passing a tranquil lake and grassy knoll where students were spread out beneath the autumn trees, reading or studying and, generally, prepping themselves for the term ahead. The building she'd be entering was in view ahead at the end of a long pathway, and Hermione recognised it as the same building that that obnoxious idiot from this morning had disappeared into. Hermione could only hope—pray, rather—that she wouldn't make contact with 'Lass' Twat a second time. She was all business-minded this morning, nervous about her less prepared for, more vaguely understood second class of the morning. Without knowing the professor's demeanour, how he lectured and graded, or what he expected of his students, every step that brought Hermione closer to Plant Sciences caused her stomach to flutter and churn.

_Relax. Breathe. It'll be fine._

Hermione had heard a flitter of things about the current Head of the Department, who also happened to be her instructor for the term, which piqued her interest—and nerves—considerably. Professor Snape, that was. He had some sort of strange first name...

Sever? Serevis? _Whatever._

Not that she had any right to be a tosser when it came to quirky and unusual first names.

According to the rumours flying around campus, Professor Snape was apparently critical, moody, blunt to the point of impoliteness, and without any personal charm, none of which made the subject more enticing to sign up for—well, to most sensible people. Hermione wasn't most students, however, and she refused to be intimidated by hearsay. She wasn't taking the subject for the professor's winning personality; she was taking Plant Sciences because it fascinated her...

_And, because you couldn't get into your first ruddy choice_, her conscience reminded her with a dismal sigh as Hermione trekked up the stairs and inside the front doors. She paused to re-situate the heavy book bag slung over her shoulder and carried on.

What she wouldn't give to be able to magically resize all her hefty books! Most were only suggested reading material anyway, not what she actually needed for the class itself, but Hermione Granger was thorough through and through; she'd read anything she could get her greedy hands on, whether it was on the required list of reading items or not.

_It can't hurt._

The first floor of the building she entered was relatively quiet, with few students mucking about. Hermione wasn't surprised to find the place mostly deserted. She was at least forty-five minutes early for class, and any other classes scheduled in the building were likely already in session or upcoming, so Hermione took her time trudging up the stairs to the first floor (Room 109, specifically), sipping her coffee and enjoying the quietude, her gait unhurried. She found her lecture hall easily enough and picked out an empty seat front and centre. The large room echoed as she flung down her bag onto the table in front of her and began emptying her pouches of needed pens, markers, notebooks, and non-required books.

Once she had her things organised to her liking, Hermione plopped herself down and resumed finishing her coffee. She took the quiet, isolated opportunity afforded her by scanning the mostly bare lecture hall—one of the larger halls on campus—and the few small pamphlets scattered along the walls, announcing upcoming guest lecturers, potential research programs, and teacher assistantship opportunities.

Hermione scrunched up her nose. Somehow, she couldn't foresee herself partaking in one of Professor Snape's studies on enhanced phloem tissue production. _Then again, you should take every opportunity afforded to you_, Hermione unwisely reminded herself; it wasn't as though she didn't have enough riding on her coattails this term. Stretching herself too thin wouldn't be smart. _You're already halfway there, though, aren't you?_

Hermione grumbled into her styrofoam cup and redirected her eyes towards the front of the room. A flicker of movement startled her out of her private thoughts, though. The next second she blinked there was another figure in the room with her, and not a student.

Hermione jolted upright in her chair and chanced a quick glance at a hanging clock on the wall. There was roughly a half hour yet until the start of class, so why was this individual so early? Reality sunk in fast and furiously in the next moment, however.

_Oh._

"I suppose you've showed up extra early either because you feared not finding the place or in some desperate hope to impress me with your insipid punctuality?" came the deep drawl of the gentleman who'd entered the room. He moseyed over to an empty desk in the corner to unburden his shoulder of a hefty-looking leather satchel. "I should warn you right from the off that the latter won't affect me. I'm far more difficult a man to amaze than with over-excessive promptness."

"I..."

Hermione ogled the back of the man's—professor's—head, intrigue and puzzlement written across her rather dumb expression. She couldn't help but to stare, however, though she did at least close her gaping mouth. Not only had Professor Snape—she had to assume it was him, for who else would venture into this particular lecture hall at random and begin making himself comfortable?—just insulted her without justification, but his appearance wasn't at all what she'd expected, either.

For one, Professor Snape was much younger than Hermione had guesstimated—well, younger in the sense that he was probably closer to forty-five rather than seventy, which seemed to be the trend amongst the male professors on campus. His clothes were conservative—a bit worn but handsome: a tan, tweeded blazer with matching waistcoat, a dark green tie, and a crisp, white shirt. His trousers—trim and long—were charcoal, and his squared-toe boots were covered in some sort of scaly print Hermione couldn't unravel, but they were attractive, unconventional...

_Different._

Most striking of all, though, was Professor Snape's drastically dark hair, which fell considerably long (just past his shoulders), its black texture limp and fine. Glints of salt and pepper sprinkled throughout gave away his older age. One silver strand in particular at the front, which was presently hanging in his face, stood out markedly from the rest. Hermione had barely caught any of the front of him, however, including his face, as he was mostly turned away from her.

Realising that the man had addressed her and she hadn't yet returned his comments, for he abruptly whipped his head around to give her a most boorish glare, Hermione blinked hard and cleared her throat. Why on earth was she nervous?

"I had an earlier class and didn't know where this one was," she lied.

Professor Snape's eyes squinted from behind a pair of square-rimmed spectacles, which were also black or, at least, some type of dark grey. "You needed a full, what," he briefly eyed the same hanging clock Hermione had, "forty-five minutes to find this place?"

"No..." Hermione answered hesitantly. Why was he giving her a hard time?

Snape's strangely coloured eyes, which Hermione noticed were also richly dark, perhaps black, too, flickered towards the stack of books on her desk. "What are those?" he questioned before she'd had the chance to answer his last inquiry, his tone laced with indignation. "I haven't given you a reading list."

Hermione's hands wove around her proud book collection and pulled the stack towards her, as if she feared the professor might seize them from her straight out of thin air. "I - I know, sir. Erm, I mean... Professor...?"

"_Snape_, of course."

"Right."

An awkward pause followed that brash introduction, one that neither sought to ramify. Professor Snape decided to inspect the books for himself and stalked over to Hermione's desk in the front row, gliding with a noticeable refinement she'd never seen in a man before. It was rather...magnetic. _That_ odd thought was quickly snuffed out, though, for he snatched up the top book from her stack with such aggressive force that Hermione reared back. She squeaked and started to reach for the binding, but then, somehow, thought better of trying to pry it from his hands.

The intense scowl Snape wore as he stared from the title of the book to Hermione and back again was ruddy intimidating. Why was that? She'd never felt unsure of herself around a teacher before. She was normally the self-assured one in the classroom; the bright pupil the adults revered. Somehow, she and Professor Snape had managed to get off on the wrong foot, and class hadn't yet begun. In fact, unless she was simply being overly sensitive, Hermione thought the man was browbeating her, and unnecessarily, too.

_For what reason?_

"Where did these books come from?" he demanded, another of his strange questions trickling through her befuddled conscience.

"Erm, the library," she responded meekly, feeling utterly stupid. Did he think she'd_ stolen_ them or something?

Snape was already onto the next tome and shuffled through each title, slamming them down beside Hermione one by one. The harsh sound echoed throughout the abandoned lecture hall, causing Hermione to wince each time.

Once he was through assaulting her reading material, those beady, onyx irises honed in on Hermione, their conveyance unpleasant. He paused to adjust his glasses, pushing them farther up his rather large, hooked nose.

"What's your name?" he demanded.

"H - Hermione, sir..." she uttered quieter than ever. "Hermione Granger."

Snape blinked down at her, a glint of curiosity passing over those intriguing eyes. "What a strange name."

Hermione could feel her ears turning scarlet. _How...! How rude!_ Her mouth staggered open and shut several times before she settled on a defiant silence. She couldn't justify the professor's thoughtlessness, so she didn't bother returning it with a reply. Snape seized the young woman's reticence as further opportunity, or seemingly so, to chastise her.

"You should only purchase books for this class that I deem suitable, Miss Granger." Snape wrapped his arms behind his back, staring down his splendidly long nose at her. "Had I provided you with a suggested reading list, I'd have never chosen any of these."

Hermione could feel the embarrassment radiating onto her cheeks. "It - It was only an assumption on my part, sir. I thought I could brush up on a few—"

"If you're taking _my_ class, Miss Granger," he countered her with more feeling, "you shouldn't have need to 'brush up' on anything. You're here to expand your knowledge, not sidestep."

"Yes, well, I - I haven't taken one of your classes before—"

"Perhaps you should've considered that _before_ you signed up then," Professor Snape intoned rather testily, eyebrows narrowed in challenge.

Completely befuddled, and not sure what she could say that might make this introduction go any less smoothly, Hermione frowned and pushed the books she'd picked out away from her, as if issuing defeat. "I meant no offence," she returned in a hushed voice, her face near burning with humiliation.

"Then do me the courtesy of allowing me to choose your reading material in my own classroom, Miss Granger."

The words were resolute, riddled with criticism, and all Hermione felt she could do was blush redder still. She'd somehow managed to affront a professor, all for simply desiring to be extra prepared. _That_ was a first.

"I... Erm, I mean... Yes, Professor."

"_Snape._"

Hermione started. "Professor _Snape_," she hastily corrected herself.

"Good."

As Hermione stared up at him, dumbfounded, she noted that Snape's facial features were excessively sharp—piercing, even, and slightly uncomfortable to look upon, though not for unconventional reasons—and, between the salt and pepper hair and his weather worn face, Hermione could tell that the man had clearly overcome a few life trials in his time. Had he been in the army at some point? Worked for the government, perhaps?

Well, whatever demons in his past he'd overcame, it didn't excuse him for being such a hard arse on her, especially when, as far as Hermione was concerned, she'd done nothing to warrant _this_ verbal maltreatment.

Then, Snape surprised her. A sneer drew across his angular face. Was that his equivalent to a smile? If so, it was utterly terrifying (and also strangely attractive in an off-colour sort of way).

"As you were," he finished, giving Hermione a curt nod before turning his back on her.

Snape retreated to the desk at the front of the room again and extracted a number of items from inside his satchel, promptly taking a seat in the accompanying desk chair and paying a still gawking Hermione no further mind. His glasses were perched low on his nose as he proceeded to read a handful of papers in his hands—probably his own academic research—his thin lips muttering every other word under his breath in that low, velvety drawl of his that sent shivers up and down Hermione's spine.

_What's wrong with you?_

Hermione sat still in her own chair a while longer, chilled and uncertain of what to do with herself. The clock on the wall told her that she still had a solid twenty-five minutes till class begun, and yet, she had _no_ desire whatsoever to remain in this room, alone, with Professor Snape for company; or did she?

_No._ The man was appalling and lacked any civility. _And, just as unbecoming as everyone was saying!_

Hermione crossed her arms over her chest, but what good would that do? Stropping like a petulant child wouldn't get her anywhere, so, begrudgingly, Hermione took her coffee cup in hand and tried to enjoy what was left of her second brew. The effort was exceptionally trying, though. She felt on pins and needles rather than relaxed. Maybe she should drop the class? Obviously, Snape didn't care for her and didn't want her there.

_Oh, do shut it, Hermione. Who are you to let yourself be so easily intimidated, and on the first day?_

Hermione's curious eyes kept roving to the disagreeable professor hunched in the corner, turning over pages and pages of research without giving her a second glance. Perhaps it was just as well that she stay put and ride out the first couple classes.

_Maybe that's what he's doing. It's his way of trying to scare off the students he thinks aren't fit or won't pass the course_, she contemplated with a cantankerous frown in his direction. _Well, he's not about to scare_ me _off!_

With that, Hermione let out an audible huff and reached over to grab one of the books she'd brought that Snape disapproved of. It thudded open on her desk with a loud _plop_, but she turned the pages rather dramatically, settling on the opening paragraph once she came upon it, and began to read.

A few seconds later she detected Professor Snape snorting in his shadowy corner of the room, and tried to inconspicuously peer over at him. He was shaking his head, his eyes otherwise engaged elsewhere, but Hermione couldn't tell whether he was smiling or sneering. He said nothing more to her, and didn't so much as glance her way again until class got underway.

* * *

What had begun as a relatively good first day back at university wasn't even half way through before turning into what Hermione could only describe as a 'full-fledged disaster'. Her pre-class introduction to Professor Snape, and vice versa, had gotten off to a fairly shaky start, and, as Hermione's ill luck would have it, their unpleasant encounter at the off was merely the tip of the iceberg.

The self-assured young twat from earlier that morning who'd nearly ran right over Hermione on his way to class turned out to be in her Plant Sciences course, and, to add insult to injury, he recognised her upon popping his head into the lecture hall in search of an available seat shortly before class began. Hermione groaned as she slunk into the back of her seat, eying with disgust as the smug prat had the nerve to steal an open spot directly behind her. She'd tried the oblivious tactic first, ignoring him for a while and attempting to feign reading, albeit unsuccessfully, for the boy kept pestering for her attention. Since the annoying cad was rather persistent, it didn't take long for Hermione to lose her nerve.

"Oi! Hey! _Psst!_"

"_What?_" she finally hissed and turned around in her seat to glare angrily at him.

"Easy, lass! No need to bite my head off!" he snorted and shot her that unnerving self-assured smirk of his again. "I was just wondering if you had an extra pen or pencil I could borrow? I seem to have lost mine."

Either the lad was a true ignoramus or just pathetic. Hermione audibly huffed as she tossed him an extra pencil, not saying a word, though she learned, despite not wishing to know anything personal about him, that the boy went by the name of Cormac McLaggan and was a third year as well.

_Brilliant. Because I don't give a damn._

Hermione redirected her attention to her book when it became awkwardly clear in the next few minutes that she and McLaggan had nothing in common to converse about; she'd only told him her first name and could see no other reason to carry on a discussion, especially when he used the term 'lass' loosely, repeatedly, and was clearly too wealthy to be using it on her.

As she turned around, Hermione fleetingly caught Snape's eye and was confounded by the peculiar smirk and shake of the head he made. Most of his sharp features were hidden behind strands of inky, long hair, but she could see beyond those dark strands that he was...pleased? Amused? Was he shaking his head at _her_ or at McLaggan?

_What does it matter? He already dislikes me._

Luckily, class soon began, so Hermione was able to avoid anymore of McLaggan's irritable disruptions—at least, for the next 90 minutes or so. Unfortunately, the class itself didn't turn out much better. Professor Snape's first lecture was mostly spent grilling the lot of them on what they supposedly should have already ascertained about Plant Sciences before. Everyone in the room, with the exception of Hermione, of course, bewildered, turned to one another, lost, as the professor intensely prattled off a number of terms and in-depth questions that nobody had the slightest inkling about.

Easily giving away how unprepared they were at being hammered by the professor, each student grumbled an answer and tried to hide his or her face when they were called upon, for no one raised their hand willingly (save for one). Virtually everyone was mortified by the incorrect or insufficient responses they gave, and Professor Snape reacted with recurrent snide jabs at their expenses.

The room quieted under a heavily strained silence that made each student less and less enthralled; but, Hermione being Hermione, she frequently dared to raise her hand high in the air a number of times in the hopes of winning back some of the approval she'd lost simply for being prompt to class. Alas, none of it worked in her favour, which stumped her as to how she might regain the professor's favour. Normally, Hermione's instructors were impressed by her rigorous knowledge and strong class preparation and participation skills. Snape, on the other hand, acted vexed and even derogatory towards her for repeatedly shooting her hand up to give an answer; or was she simply trying to garner his attention?

_That_ gave Hermione pause for thought as she made her way out of the building and onto the campus greens an hour and a half later, the lovely September scenery of crimson reds and golden botany stretched as far as the eye could see, though she couldn't enjoy any of it.

When Hermione had answered one of Snape's inquires correctly and thoroughly—causing a flutter of commotion that served to only gall his already foul mood—the remainder of class she found her raised hand purposely snubbed and ignored. By the end of the lecture, she was nursing both a sore arm and a bruised ego.

_Git._ Hermione ground her teeth as she stomped her way to the library, for she had nowhere else in mind to direct her aggravation towards but a book; her honey caramel curls were practically crackling with rage. _Git! Git! Git!_

"OI!_ 'MIONE!_"

Hermione abruptly staunched to a halt. She'd nearly reached the entry to the library before having to whip her head around at the sound of a familiar male voice. A lanky, freckled redhead and tousled, dark-haired boy with round glasses were rushing towards her, each handsomely grinning from ear to ear.

_At least_ someone _had a pleasant morning!_ she reflected somewhat bitterly to herself; she put on the best smile she could muster, which, unfortunately, wasn't much. She'd never been good at disguising her emotions.

"Oi, why didn't you acknowledge us?" the redhead who'd called to her asked, giving her a funny look over. "We've been calling your name!"

Hermione blushed apologetically and some of the anger she'd been festering from class simmered. "Sorry, Ron. I was, erm, lost in my thoughts."

"Yeah, we reckoned," the one with the messy black hair chuckled and pushed up his glasses. "You only strut off to the library like _that_ when you're in a strop. So, what happened? First day of classes didn't go well?"

"I'm not in a strop!" she argued, but the boys were already shaking off her defences.

"The day 'Mione finds academia unfulfilling will be the day I earn First-class honours!"

Hermione narrowed her eyes reprovingly. "You _would_ if you applied yourself, Ronald."

"Hey! Don't say that too loudly!" Ron hissed, faking alarm by dramatically flailing his arms about. His friend snickered, but Hermione couldn't find any humour in Ron's behaviour. It must have showed, for the boys' smiles dropped instantly and they shuffled uneasily on the walkway. Then, the dark-haired one spoke up again, breaking the silence as amicably as possible.

"Erm, Ron and I were just going to grab some grub before hitting our next class. Care to join us?"

"Oh! Well..."

"Whatever it is, Hermione," he insisted gently, "you might feel better if you eat something and talk it over with us?"

"Yeah, come keep us company," added Ron with that cheesy, fun-loving grin of his.

"I suppose I could do with something to eat," Hermione conceded with a small sigh, her stomach suddenly growling in echo to those sentiments.

With a bit of lingering unwillingness, Hermione dragged her feet away from the sanctuary of the university library to join her two best mates in the school cafeteria not far off the beaten path, hoping griping over the matter and getting that morning's lousy Plant Sciences lecture off her chest might leave her feeling vindicated rather than dismally inadequate.

Unfortunately, lunch with her friends only fuelled Hermione's frustrations rather than provide her any peace of mind.

"He sounds like a right foul git, this Snape," Ron mumbled as he scarfed down his second helping of chocolate pudding. "I remember Harry here complaining about how much of hard arse he was; gave him real a lousy time, he did. You didn't last long in that class, did you, mate?"

"Oh, I'd completely forgotten you'd taken it last term!" Hermione muttered ashamedly, more to herself than to Harry. Damn it all, how could she have forgotten? More to the point, why hadn't she listened to the countless times Harry had carped on and on about the 'evil professor' in the past?

_Probably because he'd gone on so much that, eventually, you just tuned him out_, her mind reminded her.

_Oh... Right._

In fact, Harry had grumbled and thrown such hissy fits about Professor Snape's nasty demeanour to the point of obsession. Even had Hermione had the sense to put any stock in Harry's poor opinions about a man she didn't know, all the boy's fussing should have, at the very least, provoked her to think twice about taking one of his courses.

_Brilliant, Hermione. Utterly superb move. You'd been warned, and now look at you._

"I lasted for all of three weeks before I dropped that shitty course," Harry recalled with overt displeasure, pushing up his glasses again. "I'd had enough of Snape's bloody loathing and bitterness for a lifetime. I have no idea to this day what I ever did to set the wanker off, but he despised me."

"As I recall, the feeling was mutual," Hermione piped in softly, though she regretted her remark the instant Harry proceeded to glare at her.

"Unlike him,_ I_ had good reason!" he barked back, cheeks flushing red. "He was unfair and completely out of line!"

"I - I know," Hermione half lied; she really had gone deaf to most of Harry's complaints last year.

"Good riddance to the slimy grease bucket! There's a reason he's the most disliked professor at Uni: he's a bastard."

"Oh, c'mon, Harry," Hermione found herself trying to reason with him, though she frowned over her mostly unconsumed lunch that Ron was now picking at. "He can't be all _that_ bad, surely?"

"Oi, 'Mione," Ron swallowed the last of his pudding and eyed her nervously, "do you really wanna hear Harry start up about the git again just to prove his point?" Harry shot Ron a disgruntled look, to which he shrugged. "No offence, but you _were_ a touch obsessive about him, Harry..."

Hermione shook her head and tried to drive the conversation away from any unpleasant disagreement between the two boys. Whenever they chose to quarrel, it was bad, and Hermione normally wound up in the middle of their childish strop.

"I think I'm just being touchy and over reacting about today. It _was_ only the first class..."

"Trust me, what you witnessed today was only the beginning," Harry insisted through a clenched jaw; Hermione wasn't sure whether she appreciated his candour or resented him for being so blunt and un-encouraging. "Snape's nothing but a spiteful arsehole, Hermione. If you managed to get on his bad side on the very first day like I did, you're in for a rough term."

"It - It might get better, though!"

Harry's 'who are you kidding?' expression, as well as Ron's unnatural pout of sympathy, squashed what little hopes Hermione clung to like a deflating balloon. So much for venting to her mates with the aim of boosting her confidence. She now felt crummier than ever.

"Whatever brings you comfort, Hermione," Harry added after a pregnant pause, "but I wouldn't count on things improving."

_Thanks a lot!_ she wanted to retort but bit her lower lip instead.

Besides, deep down, Hermione suspected that Harry was probably right. The boy wasn't always correct, mind you, especially when it came to rightfully perceiving the personality of those he disliked, but, in this particular case, Hermione couldn't fathom Professor Snape being otherwise. He _was_ mean; he_ was_ spiteful, though for reasons she couldn't make heads or tails of. For whatever reason, he'd had a severe aversion to her, and providing a thoroughly correct answer during his lecture had only served to shove her more onto his ghastly, disagreeable side.

Hermione wasn't accustomed to not being the teacher's pet, or, at the very least, being liked and respected by her professors. Such an uncomfortably ill position left her desperately wanting to make things right between her and Snape, if it was at all possible. Her friends clearly held little hope for that happening, and so did she.

_Maybe it was just because it was the first day. Professors must get stressed on the first day, too, surely? Erm, sometimes? Yes? Maybe?_

Ron and Harry had moved on in the course of Hermione's silence, jabbering on excitedly about upcoming rugby tryouts. Hermione continued to quietly browbeat herself, not remotely interested in the boring topic of rugby, the university's most renowned sport.

After heavily thinking over the matter of Snape and his class for the remainder of lunch, and well after Harry and Ron had left her to go to their afternoon class, Hermione eventually dropped her head into her hands, exhausted. She'd go back to her dormitory and read up on the syllabus Professor Snape had handed out. Yes, _that_ was the solution. But, first, she'd expand her knowledge as much as she possibly could by hitting the library, and maybe—just maybe—at the next class, when she showed up _more_ prepared than today, Snape would take note of how well-informed a student Hermione Granger was.

_Yes. He'll see. He'll like me once I'm given another chance to prove myself._

* * *

Evidently, Hermione couldn't have been more mistaken.

In the next several classes that followed the dismal first, Hermione didn't land on any better footing with the moody, unpredictable professor. Snape was as unassuming as he was temperamental, and, though she'd spent countless hours—days, in fact—researching and reading in the library, and expounding her knowledge of the subject matter as best she could, the answers and participation she provided weren't just seemingly unimpressive to Snape but she was sneered at and even mocked sometimes for her intelligence.

_Git._

Hermione studied exceptionally hard, thoroughly prepping herself to the point of mental and physical exhaustion for two of the exams they'd had so far, and received no more than satisfactory marks for her efforts, even though it was quite clear that she'd done an extraordinary job. Her overly excessive, comprehensive essays, too, and precise lab experiments during the early months of September and October were dismissed and ridiculed, whether on paper or verbally in front of the rest of her classmates. Hermione couldn't have been more dismayed by Snape's lack of interest, or incensed by his crude professional behaviour.

_Git! Git! Git!_

Once chilly October swirled into the beginnings of frosty November, Hermione decided it couldn't hurt to read up on Professor Snape's own published works. Perhaps if she took an interest in his research he might somehow go easier on her for a change. Harry had snickered at her 'obvious scheme', Ron blatantly called her out for being a 'kiss arse', and Hermione feigned denial on both counts.

She spent the entirety of a weekend reading through three of four of Snape's published works, and determined that they weren't half bad (if not intimidating in their fluidity, comprehension, and mastery), and she concluded her readings with several thought-provoking points she intended to mention to him at the next class, either before or after.

Hermione purposely arrived earlier than everyone else, her second morning cup of coffee in hand. Snape wasn't expected to be there for approximately another fifteen minutes, which should have provided Hermione time to prepare herself with how she would entice the volatile man into a polite academic debate, but, to her utter surprise, Snape was already present when she came barrelling into the lecture hall. He'd staked out his usual spot at the desk at the front of the classroom, that protruding, long nose burrowed in a pile of hand-written notes that, from far away, looked like nothing more than scribbles.

Snape didn't so much as peer up at Hermione when she came stalking in. She trudged to her usual spot, unloaded her belongings, and waited to be acknowledged. After several minutes went by without so much as a 'hello', though, Hermione awkwardly cleared her throat and timidly broke the silence.

"Sir? Erm, sorry to disturb whatever you're working on, but your books—"

"What of them?" Snape sharply cut her off without raising his head.

Hermione chewed her bottom lip. "Well, I... I read them. Erm, I mean, I read through three of the four you've published over the weekend..."

Finally, Snape lifted his head to give her his undivided attention, strands of straggly, raven hair dangling in his eyes, including that attractive silver strand Hermione thought rather handsome. It wasn't the first time Hermione had been taken aback by Snape's imposing good looks—and she was probably barking mad for finding him remotely attractive—and she tried to keep a blush at bay.

Quietly, Snape adjusted his spectacles and scrutinised her closely, his long, drawn scowl making her increasingly uneasy the longer he said nothing, only stared.

"Why?" he, at last, asked her after a lengthy pause.

_That_ caught Hermione off guard and she frowned from across the room. "Why not?" Snape merely continued grimacing at her as though her simple answer were the most foolish he'd ever heard, so Hermione shifted forward in her chair and carefully took one of his published works in hand. "They were very...interesting."

"'Interesting'?" he repeated, his voice monotone.

_Oh, for God's sake, Hermione, you're terrible at this!_

Hermione couldn't tell if Snape was genuinely interested in what she might have to say about his books. That inscrutable, hard expression that never seemed to soften for anyone, let alone her, didn't help matters, but Hermione tried to ignore it.

"Yes..."

_Think! Say something! What the bloody hell's wrong with you?_

Fumbling with how to continue the conversation, Hermione instead opted to close her mouth. She'd had several points in mind this morning that she planned to bring up, but, in the midst of their awkward exchange, all coherent thought vanished. The intensity of Snape's gaze, too, was distracting her, and Hermione found herself flustered by such probing, wondrously dark eyes. Why were they so...cryptic, as if their depths held the secrets to all the workings of the universe?

_Oh, Hermione, get a grip! This is_ Snape_!_

Hermione's entire face felt flushed with intense heat. A few seconds later, Snape's rich voice had her hitching a nervous breath.

"You were saying, Granger?" he probed with surprising patience. "Something you care to remark on about my research?"

Hermione blinked. _My name! He remembered my name!_ To her, it was a vast improvement and she jolted forward in her seat, perhaps a touch too eagerly.

"Nothing particularly illuminating, sir. Except... Well, I - I very much enjoyed reading them. You clearly have a deep understanding; it was very thought-provoking and I found a lot of what you shared...fascinating."

Snape cocked his head sideways, beady eyes narrowing into slits. "Did you?" he questioned softly, his tone abstruse. It caused Hermione further embarrassment.

_Oh, good Lord, you dunderhead! Now he probably thinks you're just trying to kiss his arse!_

_Isn't that_ precisely _the angle you're working, though?_ the inconvenient second half of her brain pointed out.

_No! I really_ did _like his books!_

_Yes, well, even so—_

_Oh, do shut up! There shouldn't be any harm in complimenting him!_

"I— Well, yes. I mean it. I really enjoyed reading them."

"I see." Snape's eyes did that cryptic survey of her person before some sort of shield fell back into place. "Anything else?"

Hermione frowned and sunk back in her seat. "No," she answered, diverting her eyes to spare herself anymore humiliation. "That was all...sir."

Snape didn't utter a word. He resumed reading over his work and paid Hermione no further mind, which was just as well. Her attempt at small talk—well, to engage her professor in a literary discussion about his published work—had gone absolutely nowhere, and, now, he probably thought her a kiss-arse in addition to a 'know-it-all.' He'd called her that unpleasant nickname with obvious derision more than once during recent conductions in the laboratory.

_Brilliant, Hermione. Could you possibly be more of an obvious brown-noser?_

_But... I honestly didn't mean it that way..._

_I thought you didn't like him? And wanted to get on his good side?_

_I do!_

_Well?_

_Well, I... Bugger._

Hermione couldn't find the words to argue with herself. She was baffled, uncertain of her own behaviour and how she felt about Snape now.

To keep herself in check, she remained silent and still in class that day, never once raising her hand to try to answer one of the professor's hard-hitting questions. She never sought eye contact from him, either, or made the slightest attempt to earn his recognition. She also told off McLaggan following the end of the lecture, when he'd tried rather assertively to entice Hermione to grab lunch with him.

Hermione didn't care if she came off as impolite. McLaggan was a prat, and she wanted nothing to do with him. Hopefully, the boy would finally get the hint. Besides, she needed to restrategise, perhaps take a serious time out to reconsider why it was so important to her to try to impress someone who was so unimpressed by everything...

_Including me._

* * *

The golden autumn sun was just making its unwelcome appearance—well, for the majority of a young, sleep-deprived university population based in a certain part of the world—when Hermione wearily dragged herself out of the thermal comforts of her bed, forced her grumpy self into a heavy jumper, jeans and an unflattering pair of brown boots, and trekked out of her apartment, eyes half closed.

Not even bothering to check her incontrovertible rats' nest of bed hair before leaving, Hermione batted away whatever frizzy curls had the impudence to get in her way this morning and trawled her way towards campus, foregoing even the most basic of makeup remedies that would have concealed the prominent bags on display beneath her eyes.

She'd spent the majority of the previous evening studying for Professor Snape's latest gruelling examination at the university library, slipping into her usual nook on the fourth floor, where very few other overly caffeinated, sleep-deprived individuals sought out the many cubbies in between book stacks. It was always exceedingly quiet up there and, therefore, regularly sought after by Hermione, who found her flat too distracting with all its outside noise, every day distractions, and, most importantly, the presence of her excessively chatty roommate.

Unfortunately, at about midnight, Hermione had fallen asleep—the many, many long days and weeks of intensive study and stress catching up to her—only to be shaken awake some two hours later by one of the library's highly irate security guards. He was not at all pleased to find a student still hanging around the building after it had been closed for the night, and a delirious Hermione was manhandled to the front doors, where she was then unceremoniously kicked out onto the street.

Hermione hiked back to her flat at all speed, bypassing a number of less than studious drunkards intent on pissing the night away rather than going home like any sensible person. _Good grief! It's Monday and a school night! I mean, erm, morning!_ she huffed to herself, glaring down the obnoxious lot of them as she crossed the street towards her flat on the next block.

Hermione's own intentions were far more objective, but they hadn't gone as she planned. Upon entering her cramped, unheated flat, she was assaulted by a certain four-legged patch of orange fur that was insistent on receiving nonstop attention for the next hour.

Admitting defeat, Hermione curled up on the couch with chocolate, a heated blanket to fight off the horrible draft running through her flat, and a purring feline who went by the name of Crookshanks seated in her lap. She turned on the telly for some background noise whilst attempting to recharge to keep on studying, but, instead, a half hour later Hermione nodded off to the comforting vibrations of Crook's purrs.

Now, she was starving, had virtually nothing left to eat in her flat save for a cup of noodles (which didn't sound _at all_ appealing at seven o'clock in the morning), and, sluggishly, was braving the November cold in pursuit of breakfast. Her first order of the day would be a stop at a nearby coffee shop not far from university, where they sold a 'smashing' egg, cheese, and bacon croissant sandwich to die for, as well as a deliciously strong cup of coffee.

_Just what I need to gear up for more studying._

Hermione paused as she entered the quiet coffee shop, unsurprised that it was mostly empty. The student population would be virtually non-existent until roughly fifteen minutes before eight o'clock classes began, so Hermione was able to order a hot coffee and breakfast to go without waiting in a long queue.

Five minutes later, with the two necessities for starting her day in hand, Hermione was feeling slightly more awake. She'd just snatched up the bag containing her croissant sandwich when she happened to peer casually to her left. Someone—an older gentleman—was seated next to the large café window and typing away on his laptop.

_Professor Snape._

The man's dark glasses were perched low on his distinguished nose, his face the epitome of utmost concentration as he typed with fury and without breaking. Hermione was all too happy not to disturb the prickling professor this morning, particularly _before_ she'd ingested her much-needed caffeine that would help her ability to hold back her tongue.

Thus, Hermione quickly lowered her eyes and bolted for the exit. She'd started pushing the door open and was about to make her much-sought after escape when Snape's deep voice rung out through the coffee shop, its sound rich, strangely beguiling, and nearly welcoming compared to its usual forbiddance.

_Beguiling? Golly, Hermione, you really_ do _need your coffee this morning._

"Miss Granger."

Giving a small yelp, Hermione reluctantly peered over at Snape, though his acute gaze was still transfixed on his computer screen as he typed. "Good morning, Professor," she managed with little poise.

"Enlighten me," he continued as if she hadn't spoken. "Why on earth would a lively, exuberant young student such as yourself be up and even functioning at this ghastly hour?"

Hermione was too struck to answer, and, after a pregnant pause, those piercing ebony eyes finally met hers. Perhaps it was the lack of caffeine in her system, or perhaps she simply wasn't herself yet without her morning coffee, but the curious look over Snape was directing at Hermione sent a jittery shiver up and down her spine that she swiftly sought to suppress. She smiled weakly, as though she feared Snape were some kind of mind reader and about to dissect her depraved thoughts, and stepped away from the door.

"I'm used to it," she answered as casually as possible. "Always been an early riser."

Snape seemed to doubt that comment. Hermione couldn't blame him nor the semblance of that dubious-looking eyebrow rising to attention. She probably looked a fright to him. She'd rolled herself out of bed and thrown on a hodge-podge of clothes without a second thought as to whom she might run into.

Then again, it wasn't like Hermione to give any consideration towards her conservative, if somewhat bland, wardrobe and general appearance. _Why do you care how_ Snape _sees you?_ her conscience inconveniently chose to point out at that moment. She reacted by brushing and scrunching at some loose curls around her head.

"I see." Thankfully, Snape moved on. "Well, if you aren't in a terrible rush, you may pull up a seat and join me." At the vacant stare that followed, which Hermione would feel badly about in another moment or two, Snape added with a half-cocked smirk, "My guess is you've been up half the night—if not the _entirety_ of it—crunching obsessively for an exam of mine tomorrow."

Merlin, he had her pegged. Perhaps he _was_ a damn mind reader after all, in addition to a being a snarky smart-arse.

Hermione's cheeks blushed in acknowledgement. "Only last evening," she confessed softly before tacking on without thinking, "as well as the weekend and every night last week..."

Snape's pupils widened a fraction and then resumed their normal shape. "Do sit down," he encouraged, gesturing towards the empty seat across from him.

Although apprehensive, Hermione slunk into the beckoned chair before her and shifted about uncomfortably whilst Severus proceeded to type more on his laptop. Unsure of what to say or how to fill the silence, Hermione sipped her coffee, grateful to have something handy to distract herself, albeit marginally. That beautiful silver strand of hair was dangling over the left lens of Snape's glasses, and Hermione had a sudden impulse to reach over and brush it away.

_Hermione!_

Snape abruptly blinked and looked up, and Hermione floundered in trying to disguise the severe blush marring her cheeks by hiding behind her steaming cup of coffee. When he didn't attempt to say anything, Hermione gulped down her coffee too fast, intending to say something herself but ended up hacking instead.

"Steady on, Granger," she heard the professor snort as she recovered. "I'm not going to test you here at the table. I'll refrain from tormenting you over your breakfast." He nodded to the paper bag Hermione still clasped in one hand. "Eat your sandwich before it goes cold."

With a puzzled frown, Hermione unearthed her sandwich and chewed slowly, continuing to eye Snape curiously over his laptop. He was typing again but not offering any polite conversation, which felt entirely odd. Why the bloody hell had he even asked her to sit with him? So that she could merely watch him type or he observe her stuffing her face?

_Cheeky._

After a few more minutes, Hermione awkwardly piped up, "What are you working on," before adding abruptly, "erm, if you don't mind me asking, that is?"

Snape eyed her over his laptop again and Hermione could have sworn he was actually smirking this time, though from afar it probably resembled more of a grimace of pain than a small smile of pleasure. "I _intended_ to work on honing together a lecture I'll be giving next month when I was unfortunately...distracted." Hermione raised an eyebrow, the coming question clearly written on her face, so Snape expounded before she could get a word in, "Are you familiar with the online adventures of one Roger Wilco?"

Hermione nearly had another coughing fit and wiped at her lips. She wasn't a gamer, but she knew the name.

"From Space Quest?"

One side of Snape's mouth rose, amused. "Very good, Granger. I wouldn't have taken you for an online gamer."

"I'm not," Hermione replied, blushing redder. "Erm, my dad is, though; loves them. Mum thinks they're wonky."

Snape's side smile extended an inch or two, causing Hermione's insides to flutter. "They're highly amusing. I've gotten into them when I need to...unwind."

Hermione's own smile emerged. "I would never have taken _you_ for someone who's into Space Quest."

"They're marginally entertaining," Snape retorted, though with good humour.

"So my dad keeps insisting to my mum." Hermione chewed her bottom lip as the conversation suddenly stilled. Then, thankfully, another question came to her. "What is the lecture you're giving?"

"A boring analysis of phenotyping technology. A colleague friend of mine from Amsterdam invited me to speak."

"Oh? How nice."

Although she felt somewhat foolish for that reply, she was rather enjoying Snape's company—so far.

Snape smirked at her civility. "Hardly. It'll be dull and boring and uneventful and, I reckon, by the time I'm through, all of the guests will be snoring or drooling on themselves, my friend, Minerva, included." Hermione was grateful she hadn't been in the midst of taking another sip of her coffee; Snape shook his head. "Still, as you say, it was 'nice' of her to invite me."

Hermione took a bite of her sandwich, using the silence to swallow and formulate her next inquiry. "Have you been to Amsterdam before?"

"Many times."

"I went once when I was a little girl. Mum and Dad took the weekend off—they run a dental practice—to take me to see the Arrival of Sinterklaas. It was spectacular, from what I remember. We've never been back since."

"Mmm," Snape grunted in reply, dark eyes returning to whatever was on his computer screen. "Your family celebrates Christmas, I take it?"

"We do. Mum and I really get into the spirit of the holiday. Dad likes to pretend he doesn't care."

_Hermione, why on earth are you sharing this?_ her mind warned. _I'm sure Snape doesn't give a damn._

"Not I," Snape interrupted her ill thoughts with a firm toss of his head. "Never cared for the commercialisation of Christmas. It's exceedingly off putting."

"But, the music?" Hermione suggested against her better judgement, face turing wondrous with simple thought to the coming holiday. "The pretty decorations? The lovely lights and the shows and the—"

"Too commercial for my tastes."

"Well, then how do _you_ normally celebrate the Christmas holiday?"

Snape met Hermione's curious gaze with a rather sobering one of his own, and it was no longer light and inviting. "I don't," he stated matter-of-factly.

"Oh! Oh, I... I'm sorry; I never meant to assume that you—"

"It's all right, Granger," Snape insisted, his tone of voice and expression somewhat disengaged now. "I don't celebrate a holiday of any kind. I'm a man of science, not of faith."

Hermione frowned, though she knew in the back of her mind that she shouldn't be so surprised to learn this. Many in academia were not men or women of faith, and she wasn't necessarily herself. She and her parents enjoyed Christmas for the beautiful carols, decorations, and Santa Clause, not for the religious ties at the heart of its celebration, something that had never sat well with Hermione's conscience. Her interest in Snape was heightening with each minor personal exchange between them.

"Did you celebrate at all growing up?"

"No." Snape's black irises had unexpectedly dimmed, seemingly far away in thought. "My mother tried but my father..." Then, abruptly, they flickered back around, and Snape looked rather cross as he scowled at her from across the stable. "Christmas wasn't a long-lasting tradition in my household."

"Oh... I - I see. I'm sorry."

"Why are you sorry?"

"I, erm... I didn't mean to offend you by ask—"

"You haven't offended me." He nodded once more towards her half-consumed croissant. "I believe your sandwich is getting cold."

Hermione took that as her cue to quietly eat and not pry._ Serves you right. You don't know how to mingle without meddling_, her conscience berated.

A minute later, Snape closed his laptop and tucked it away into his leather satchel by his feet. That silver hair remained adamantly in his face, though he scooped some other straggly strands behind his ear. Hermione wasn't aware that she'd stopped eating to ogle like a daft idiot, but she at least found the decency to close her mouth once their gazes met again.

"I shan't take up more of your morning," he disappointed her by saying in the next breath. He flung his worn satchel over one shoulder and a pair of sunglasses emerged from inside one of his tweed pockets; he covered those enigmatic eyes with them and Hermione felt the breath in her lungs being snuffed out. "Good day, Granger."

Snape didn't await her response. He gracefully slid out of his chair and took off two strides at a time. By the time Hermione turned around, he was halfway out the door.

"Good day...sir," she whispered after him, aware that he probably hadn't heard her.

_He hates me_, she concluded as she begrudgingly resumed sipping her coffee, alone.

_Oh, were you expecting a different outcome?_

_Maybe not but...!_

_But?_

_Well... He seemed so different today. Engaging, even funny at times!_

_Until you mentioned the holidays._

Hermione frowned down at the scruffy lid of her coffee cup. _So, what does this mean? Am I to be academically punished for it come exam day?_

_Who knows. Not an easy-going chap, though; don't kid yourself. And he's too old for you, Hermione._

_Steady on! I know that! And I don't at all think—_

_Yes, you do._

_...Bugger._

On that brutal note, Hermione scampered out of her seat and nearly spilt hot coffee on herself as she hastened back to her flat.

* * *

Severus's highly concentrated scowl as he glided out of his office late one November evening didn't so much as draw a casual upward glance from any of his fellow late-night colleagues sharing the floor with him. Most of the university staff were accustomed to Severus Snape looking as though he was considering running over an innocent cat with his car. Mostly, they avoided him, which was just as well, for he normally opted for sidestepping them and their immense egos just the same.

Tonight was no exception to the norm, and, though he was offered a formal, stiff-sounding 'Good evening,' from a few he encountered in exiting the faculty building for his department, Severus was mostly left to pander to his own private thoughts, which, at the moment, were a mixture of rousing contemplations, and not at all to do with his latest research project.

Severus adjusted the strap to his gnarled leather satchel and trekked down the cement steps two at a time. As he reached the sidewalk, he paused to throw one half of the green, plaid-pattern scarf he wore over his shoulder and bundle it more snug about his neck. The air was brisk, making the familiar ache in his rigid joints discomforting but tolerable. Evenings like these had Severus yearning for warmer climate, for it lousily reminded him of how he tended to feel older than his actual years.

_But, you_ are _old._

With a disgruntled sigh, Severus adjusted his glasses and followed the walkway that led to the faculty parking lot, resuming his steady, strong gait and internal musings from earlier. He'd been deep in thought most of the day, his concerns increasing as the day wore on rather than lessening.

_Perhaps she's ill and hasn't had the opportunity to check her e-mail yet._

Nonsense, the ever cynical portion of his brain argued. _If she were unwell, she'd have contacted you first thing to beg for an extension. She'd be far too stressed and overly concerned to allow such an important matter to wait until she was actually well enough to communicate with you._

_Maybe she's had a family emergency and has had little to no time to contact me._

_Bollocks. You can't—you _shouldn't_—make excuses for her. There are none._

_But, maybe..._

_Face it, Severus, you're out of scenarios. None of them would excuse Hermione Granger's absence from class and not handing in the essay that was due. That girl would hand in an assignment two weeks ahead of schedule if the option were offered, even if it meant trudging to your office in a bloody blizzard without shoes or a damn coat. She'd never allow herself less than perfect attendance, either. Something's up._

_...And I'm talking to myself about this_ why _precisely?_

Severus's frown was so acute he wasn't aware of the couple young folks he passed, either on their way to their flats or, more likely, to get pissed with friends, nervously stepping into the grass to avoid him. Instead, he snarled quietly as he searched for his car keys wrenched somewhere in one of his pockets.

_You've been paying a little too much unwarranted attention to the absence of Miss Granger, Severus_, his conscience pressed on. _Is that because you feel...bad?_

_Bugger off._

_Touchy, aren't we? Are you alarmed to discover that you actually possess a conscience? A grain of sincere regret for your appalling behaviour towards that of another?_

_Piss. Off._

_With pleasure._

At last jerking his car keys free of a tweed coat pocket, Severus set off at full speed, ignoring that his glasses were starting to fall down the sharp bridge of his nose. He needed to get home and distract himself—focus on honing his research, read up on the latest catalogue of academic essays that he'd obtained from the library, or, perhaps, take the night off and watch mindless crap on the telly with a glass of his favourite Cabernet Sauvignon.

_Whatever's necessary to forget about the whereabouts and doings of Hermione Granger, which is none of your bloody business_ or _your bloody concern._

* * *

"Don't you have another essay due today?"

"Mmm?"

Hermione's tired, red-rimmed eyes flickered lazily towards the equally run down faces of Harry and Ron, both of whom looked far worse for the wear this morning than she did. Their eyes were blotched, their dirty hair sticking up in every direction, stubble lining their faces. That definitely needed attending to, but both were too busy nursing hangovers.

"Oh, yeah..." she mumbled through a yawn. "Not going."

Even a head impediment couldn't stop either hungover lad from shooting their friend startled looks. "Come again?" Ron flat-out questioned, scrunching his freckled nose, blue eyes half-closed. "You, skipping class? _Again?_"

Hermione narrowed her eyes in challenge. "That wasn't funny the first time, Ronald."

"Hermione, what's going on?" Harry scrubbed a hand down his face. "Are you planning to drop Snape's class or...?"

Hermione shrugged off that inquiry rather too nonchalantly. Her curls were a particularly knotted and frizzed mess this morning, but she couldn't give less of a damn about her messy appearance.

In fact, as of late, she hadn't given much of a rat's arse about _anything_, and it was starting to trouble those around her, particularly her two closest friends. To her, this change of mindset was a breath of fresh air, but, to Harry and Ron, who weren't on board with this newfound refusal of Hermione's to not care about her studies, her feral mop of hair, or her academic integrity was beyond their abilities to comprehend. _Something_ had brought about this drastic change in their friend, and not for the better; but they hadn't been able to weasel the truth out of her yet.

"Erm, Hermione, you ought to, at least, go talk to your counsellor."

"What for?" Hermione shot Harry's suggestion down whilst clinging to the wonderfully hot cup of tea she was cradling between her palms.

Neither of the boys could believe they were giving their much smarter friend academic advice. "Well... To see what he recommends. Maybe you can file a complaint against Snape?"

The frown Hermione wore deepened considerably. "And, why would I want to do that?"

"Well," Ron turned to Harry, perplexed, before returning Hermione's own puzzled stare, "it's Snape's nasty treatment towards you that's had you acting out of sorts, hasn't it?"

"What on earth do you mean?" Hermione drew back and blinked, her befuddlement mounting; what were these two (mostly) loveable twats getting at?

"'Mione, you went from the point of obsessing over excelling in Snape's class that we barely saw you the past several weeks to skipping his class altogether, not turning in work when it's due, and opting to get pissed with us rather than stay in and study. We've never seen you so much as tipsy until last night! And, you've suddenly gone completely mute about discussing Snape at all, _so what gives?_"

Slowly, Hermione's mouth dropped open in awareness. _Curse it, Ron!_ He had a point, and a valid one, too: her behaviour of late _was_ rather troubling when she actually stopped to contemplate recent hair-raising events. No wonder these two party-hard fools were so concerned about her wellbeing. They may have been boys, and thereby prone to insipid excursions that, at times, went beyond reproach in Hermione's eyes, but they cared about her and knew her well enough to ascertain when she was keeping something from them.

"I..." she started, but couldn't seem to find the words; had she really become so absorbed in her dealings with Professor Snape that, to her friends, it was more than an engrossment; it was an 'obsession'? _That_ was worrisome, the hellish reminder of the previous evening's sloppy events not withstanding.

Hermione had decided on the fly to meet up with Harry and Ron at the latest school union party, which was being hosted in an old university hospital ward that the union had transformed into their headquarters decades ago. The beer was flowing and the party buzz was in full swing when she'd arrived.

Harry was busily sweet-talking some pretty Asian girl, Cho, whom he'd just met that night. Hermione thought her nice, if not quite flaky, and was also introduced to a friend Cho had dragged along, who seemed far less enthused about being there: Lavender Brown. Ron seemed incapable of keeping his eyes off of the blonde-haired bimbo, most especially her busty tits that were practically pouring out of her dress.

Hermione had rolled her eyes and left the boys to their own devices, finding the new girls they were buying cheap drinks uninteresting. The feeling was apparently mutual, as she'd find out later.

Initially, Hermione's intention of going to the school union party that evening had been to make her rounds to the various social circles present to push her anti-fox hunting smear campaign, which she'd been fiercely crusading since her first year on campus. It may have been a banned sport, but many students and their rich parents that donated generously to the university still took part in the proscribed past time on weekends. She'd only learned recently in passing that McLaggan and his lot of particularly upper class twits were amongst those who took part in this terrible sport. Frankly, Hermione was all too happy to have another reason to add to her list for disliking the wanker.

Unfortunately, McLaggan had been at the party, spotted Hermione, and harassed her most of the night. After a series of ridicules, and being laughed at by McLaggan and his brainless band of snobs, Hermione didn't get even, but she _did_ get inebriated. One cheap beer led to the next in order to forget McLaggan and the uninspiring company she found herself amongst. She hated the stuff—she'd never had much taste for alcohol, period—but drank anyway to the point of slurring her words and sending the room into a never-ending spin.

Thankfully, Harry and Ron had stuck around to witness Hermione's nightmarish deterioration into drunkenness and coaxed her back to their flat to crash for the night. Getting the feisty chit to leave the party had been a scene in itself, though. Hermione incoherently mumbled, hummed, and even broke out into song at one point. It had taken Ron practically pushing Hermione out of the venue to get her to leave, and the three of them had slogged back to Harry's and Ron's flat shoulder to shoulder.

After face-planting herself on their couch fully clothed and with a bit of drool running down her chin, Hermione had passed out and could barely remember how she'd gotten there the following morning. Unfortunately, she _had_ recalled croaking at the top of her lungs at one point and giving some wanker who'd poked fun at her singing capabilities the ungraceful middle finger.

Now, Hermione was being reminded of why she preferred not to let herself get three sheets to the wind. Battling this pounding headache was dreadful, she was certain the large amount of alcohol she'd consumed was going to exit unpleasantly from either one end or the other or both, and the discovery that she was a slipshod drunk didn't sit well with her soberer conscience, even in this new phase of apathy she was testing out.

"Well, I don't intend to ever get pissed like that again," Hermione reassured the boys as she gingerly massaged her temples.

"Forget that," Harry scoffed and placed his elbows on the table. "What about _Snape?_ What are you going to do about him?"

"I... I haven't a clue, Harry, all right?"

"Well, you need to turn in that essay for starters," Ron joined in, earning a critical scowl for getting involved, but he ignored Hermione's visible warning. "Even if it's late, you'll earn more points than you would for not turning it in at all."

"And, trust me, Hermione, you do _not_ want Snape to give you an even harder time for not handing work in. I tried that tactic towards the end; he made my life bloody miserable."

Either it was her hangover or lack of a good night's sleep that saw Hermione not heeding her friends' words. She groaned and cautiously shook her head; the table she sat at with her friends was still leaning too heavily to the right on occasion.

"I don't care what he'd choose to do to me anymore, to be honest," she muttered into her tea cup. She was surprised by the condemning frowns she received for that.

"Yes, you _do_, Hermione," Harry corrected her with feeling. "You care more about your grades than anybody else here!"

"Harry—"

"'Mione, take it from Harry. He's been through the ringer with Snape before. You need to turn in that essay or go see your advisor about dropping the class."

"All right, all right!" Hermione threw up her hands. "Golly, listen to you two suddenly acting all worried for my academic wellbeing!"

"Shut it, Hermione." Hermione's mouth dropped at Harry's testiness, but he simply pressed on, "This isn't like you; that's why we're getting on your case. Someday soon you're going to wake up and start fretting all over the place, and _we_'re likely to receive the brunt of it. We're just looking out for you."

"Well, I've got it sorted, all right? I'll settle this soon. I promise!"

"You'd better," Harry cautioned her with a serious frown, but Ron snickered and, with dramatic flair, swept the back of his jacket forward so that it looked like a cape. He raised his arm to conceal half of his face.

"Or the bat of the science lab will fail you for your incompetence!" he mocked in a purposely deep register.

"You're wicked to poke fun at a professor like that!" Hermione scolded, though she had a hand pressed to her mouth was trying futility to hold back her laughter.

Ron rolled his eyes, not at all affected, and Harry chuckled and shook his head. "Nah, _he's on point._ That's what Snape is: a greasy, old bat with a permanent stick up his pucker."

Hermione didn't argue, for she knew the boys were correct on one thing: she needed to get herself together. And, she either had to face Snape (a fear that wasn't all that enticing) or, even at this late in the term, consider dropping the course and taking a penalty for doing so. Although she'd never been the weak sort to back down from a challenge, she wasn't foolish enough not to realise when she was fighting a losing battle. Snape wasn't someone who was easy to win over.

In fact, he was near impossible to win over. It was time to put a stop to this.

* * *

Severus momentarily removed his glasses to rub thoroughly at the purple bags beneath his eyes. He'd indulged in a tad too much of his favourite red wine the previous evening, treading so far in his drinking excursion as to finish the entire bottle, something he rarely allowed of himself; but, as it would turn out, he needed to drink all of the contents in order to remove a certain fresh, young face from his mind.

Yet, even after finding himself wineless and stooped over on the floor, half asleep and half on the brink of delirium, she'd _still_ managed to penetrate his debauched thoughts.

_The nerve of the woman!_

This had never happened to Severus Snape before. Scratch that; it _had_ happened once in the past, but those consuming thoughts over a certain young lady had occurred many, many years ago. It had begun as an innocent childhood whim and grown to a teenage longing that went unfulfilled. He'd been responsible for bringing about the end of their friendship, and, therefore, any chance at something potentially greater.

Since then, Severus made a point _never_ to become entangled with another woman. Not emotionally, anyway. Physical interaction was fine, but any sort of emotional attachment wasn't permitable. He told himself it was better that way. Perhaps it was, though his more tender-sided conscience never agreed with him.

For the past several decades, this arrangement had worked perfectly fine for Severus. His sexual encounters with women were few, whether younger or, sometimes, older, but he preferred such arrangements to anything more. He refused to allow a woman to devour his mind after she left the comforts of his bed or, he, hers.

Yes. It was better this way.

Severus certainly didn't hold Granger in that potential category. _Fuck, no!_ he started in his chair, disenchanted by his own thought process, and scrambled to open his inbox.

Nothing.

Sure, Hermione Granger was an attractive young woman in the sense that very few women with a bright, fiercely intellectual sense were: completely naive to their natural beauty; in Granger's case, it was an arresting combination of that untameable wild hair, ordinary makeup (if she even wore any), and plain clothing that neither hid her alluring curves nor accentuated them.

_For fuck's sake, Severus, where's your head today? Focus._

Severus scrolled through a selection of unread e-mails in his inbox, stopping at one in particular that required a reply. He sneered with discontent, as if he'd tasted something most foul.

_Remus Lupin. Of course. Prat._

Turning down said faculty member's invitation to an evening cocktail hour with a selection of his colleagues would be his only satisfaction for today. No, he would most certainly _not_ be attending Lupin's monthly boozy get-together, which served only as an excuse for lengthy, dull discussions about the man's poor excuse for research for his latest book than anything remotely stimulating. The last thing Severus desired was to listen to his old school rival drone on and on for hours about a subject matter he cared little for. Besides, Lupin was merely extending an invitation to him out of obligation, like always, since they ran in similar social circles, rather than out of any shred of civility, so, as far as Severus was concerned, Remus could stuff his little staff party up his bottom.

"Consider it a favour," Severus snorted to himself after clicking 'Send'.

Then, he resumed grading the last of the essays he'd be handing back to his students at his next Plant Sciences lecture tomorrow.

No word had come in from Granger, much to Severus's surprise, and no forward mention from administrative staff as to the possibility of her choosing to drop the course. He would have been quite taken aback if that had been the case. Granger was a rare combination—an irritable swot but highly capable student; one of only a select few to come Severus's way in the some twenty years he'd been a professor. She was an exceptionally gifted intellectual; of the rare young academic breed who cared deeply for learning and expanding her knowledge. For her to have chosen to drop his class would have been an eyebrow raiser in the extreme.

_So, why hasn't she bothered to turn in her essay or get in touch with me to plead for an extension?_ he wondered, eying his empty inbox with dissatisfaction, as if he expected an email to pop up from her at any moment.

Over the next hour Severus spent in his office no such plea came crawling into his inbox. Then, an unexpected knock at the door disrupted his concentration. Rarely did a student pay Severus a visit, whether to discuss how to boost his grades, to whine over a botched essay that didn't deserve a higher mark, or to search out opportunities to earn extra credit; so, to find someone at his office whose shadow didn't resemble a faculty member was most peculiar indeed.

"Enter," he answered and cast his grading pen aside.

To his amazement, Hermione Granger, the very woman who'd been on his mind too often of late, suddenly materialised in his doorway, looking the epitome of good health and brave collectedness. She even smiled at him, though her bright disposition was brief, and Severus drew back in his chair, confounded.

"Miss Granger," he attempted to address her in his monotone drawl; she merely nodded in return, not at all fazed when their eyes met. That probably should have tipped him off, but, initially, it hadn't. "Please, come in."

_At last_, he devised with a delightful sneer. _She's come to barter excuses for more time to complete her assignment._

"I trust you're here regarding the essay you failed to turn in to class on time?"

"Well, I—" she started but was abruptly cut off.

"Which, I suppose, I'm duty-bound to remind you, though it was clearly written on the syllabus you received at the beginning of the year, was due nearly a week ago come tomorrow."

"Yes, I'm aware of the due date," Hermione replied just as coolly.

Severus's brow knitted together. "_And?_ Pray, tell, what is the excuse you've brought with you?"

"I'm afraid I have no excuse, sir."

Severus blinked, confusion rippling across his features despite his intentions of not showing any feeling. "Pardon?"

To his disgruntlement, Hermione casually shrugged. "I have no legitimate reason for my tardiness, Professor."

"I heard you," he snipped and quickly adjusted his brown plaited jacket. "Then... Well... Why are you here?" he finally settled for asking.

"I've come to hand in my essay," she answered with such simplicity and frankness that Severus actually did a double-take.

"What?"

"I fully understand, and expect, to be penalized for turning my essay in six days late, Professor, but I would rather receive _some_ points for my efforts than none at all." When Severus didn't respond in the next few seconds, only continued to stare at her as if she were a complete stranger, Hermione awkwardly cleared her throat, stepped forward into his office, and plopped her essay down on his desk. "Here it is, sir."

Cautiously, Severus reared forward in his chair, picked up the essay, and examined the number of pages before frowning up at her with another one of his trademark scowls. "It's twice as long as the maximum length, Granger."

"I know, sir. Forgive me, but I think you'll find the details I've added particularly insightful."

Severus blinked. "I beg your pardon?"

"For your research, sir."

"And, why would I desire _your_ expertise," he uttered with particular disdain, "for my professional research, Granger?"

"I never meant to suggest that you would. I just thought you might find my points interesting to your research is all. You'll have to read my essay to determine whether it's worthy of your time...or not," she came back at him, again, with alarming calmness, her voice lacking any shakiness or nerves. She drew back towards the door and raised her chin. "Oh, I have something else to pass along to you, Professor."

Severus, though numb, raised an inquisitive eyebrow. "Yes?"

"I'll be dropping your class. I hope it won't reflect too poorly on the essay I've presented to you. Again, I don't expect high marks; I'd just like my efforts to be treated as fairly. That is all."

In the next instant, Hermione Granger was gone, closing the door softly behind her as she floated away down the hall and out of sight. Severus stared on at the empty space in front of him where she'd been seconds ago, his mind reeling.

_You've officially done it, Severus. Congratulations. You've managed to drive one of the smartest, most capable young students this university has ever encountered out of one of your classes. Bravo. Generous points to you for being such an intolerable prick that she'd choose giving up rather than continuing on._

* * *

**A/N #2: I haven't determined if this will be a two-shot or a three-shot. Most likely, it will be two, but we'll see. Volume II is still in the works but should (hopefully) be coming soon..._  
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_**Reviews are always greatly appreciated!**_


	2. Volume II

**A/N: I finally present you with Volume II, which officially completes this little Muggle AU tale of mine. I hope you'll like what I've done with the second half...**

**A special shout out must go to _theoutglouriousbasterds_ on Tumblr, who's sweet message of encouragement really lit a fire under my arse to get this second half completed sooner than it ever would have come together otherwise! You have _her_ to thank for the update!  
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**As always, many thanks to my wonderful beta, Brittny, for betaing this in the nick of time, and to ALL who've followed, faved, and/or reviewed this story so far****! It's been a pleasure to write and share it with you, and I hope you'll leave me your thoughts on its conclusion...**_**  
**_

**Disclaimer: _Harry Potter_ is copyrighted to and belongs to JK Rowling. I'm just playing in her sandbox. No money, just fun. Artwork is credited to Bodler.**

* * *

**Volume II**

* * *

Severus had been settled on the hard floor of his sitting room for too many hours, long legs draped awkwardly before a low-burning fireplace. His arse was more than a touch sore by now, thanks to the feeble padded cushioning that the bottom of his couch provided, which didn't necessarily help his lower back pain. He'd also been craning his neck and squinting just as long, and a headache was forming in his pounding temples, but he'd mostly ignored its intrusion, persevering long enough to sit through a whopping _sixth_ reading of Hermione Granger's tardily-written essay before lunch.

And that was just during _this_ particular sitting. There had also been several read-throughs the night before, though those became less coherent by the time Severus downed his third or fourth glass of wine.

Of course, by now Severus nearly had every line of Hermione's essay committed to memory. Such memorisation skills hadn't evolved over night. He'd once been a highly diligent student himself, after all. A loner, mostly—substantially isolated to the point that studying wasn't so much for pleasure but a means to occupy his often company-deprived mind.

From the outskirts, Hermione Granger didn't appear to be all that different. Severus had pondered a few of the similarities they shared more than a handful of times. _And we both know you've devoted entirely too much time to thinking on_ that_, mind you._ But then, how could Severus not? Hermione Granger had been on his mind for more than the past twenty-four hours, and were their similarities really so trite? _Of course not. Well, not to_ you_ anyhow._

Severus paused to sip the welcoming cup of hot tea in his hand. It was a far more suitable alternative to the ghastly amount of wine he'd consumed the previous evening.

What was the use in playing the part of Denial with his own ruddy conscience, for that matter, regardless of how warped his thoughts had been of late? For whatever reasons that continued to confound him, Severus Snape could not get the damnable subject that was Miss Hermione Granger out of his head. He'd had smart, capable students before, naturally, but when it came to _her_ peculiarities—those tousled, windswept curls that she never bothered to tame, that captivating smile often hidden behind the shelter of her books, that fiercely competitive streak that shone itself brightly and proudly, despite her many insecurities, and that gutsy intellect she possessed that had the ability to challenge his own—well, the combination of such impressive characteristics wound up consuming the professor's every waking attention; the past twenty-four hours more so than ever before.

At first, Severus had avoided peering over the girl's—young _lady_'s—intimidating, long-winded essay, as if it was one of his badly contaminated phials, tainted and wrought with pollutants that should make its' tangibility unfathomable.

_That_ had lasted all of roughly twenty minutes, give or take a few.

After stewing and warring with himself in the confines of his office, Severus quietly claimed defeat. In an abrupt move, he shut down his computer, tossed the essay into his satchel and tore out of his department building two steps at a time, scrambling for his keys the entire way to the staff parking lot.

_Damn that girl!_ he'd cursed her the whole way home; or was he damning himself for his easily piqued curiosity that was now veering on the point of madness? _Damn her either way!_

Hermione had been so calm the way she'd strolled into his office, placed the essay gently on top of his desk, took his snarky comments in stride, and calmly informed him at the end of their unassigned meeting that she was dropping his class. She'd left as unemotionally as she'd come, and Severus had been stunned into silence for several moments following her departure—a rarity in itself.

Thirty minutes later, an intrigued and equally aggravated Severus was back in the comforts of his dark but relatively cosy flat, with Hermione's essay in hand. After pouring himself a glass of red wine and adjusting his glasses, he'd plopped himself down on his sofa, squeaking the springs to life, pressed a plush pillow behind his head and began to read, all but ignoring the black Chantilly feline perched on the opposite end of the couch. Its tail swished back and forth against Severus's sprawled bare feet, its glowing yellow eyes staring at its master with neither curiosity for whatever had him so intensely engaged nor nonchalantly about not being at the centre of his sphere.

An hour or so later, and well on his way to getting pissed, Severus was about to start on a second reading of the twenty-two page essay the 'blasted girl' had so thoroughly written to impressive effect when his cat sauntered over top of him and perched herself squarely on his chest. Evidently, he was doing that audible growling and snarling act again, and talking to nothing but thin air, so the cat meowed and swiped at Severus's face, earning an unwelcoming sneer.

"It was good," he moped to the cat as he took another large swig of wine. "It was _brilliant_, in fact; the bloody do-gooder! She knows _exactly_ what she's doing, Sammie." He pointed to himself; the feline reacted not. "She's trying to guilt-trip me, the conniving little chit!"

Sammie couldn't understand why her master was so bent out of shape, but he wasn't stroking her behind her ears, and she _always_ received such proper pampering when her master came home. She meowed more emphatically, but Severus took her mewling as some sort of encouraging poke to keep griping on and on _and on_.

"She wants me to come crawling to her to apologise," he hissed between his teeth, "or, perhaps, to apologise to her in an e-mail. She misses class and hands in her essay late and she expects _me_ to apologise to _her_?"

One glass of wine turned into four, and two more readings of Hermione's essay later were intermittently disrupted by an aggravated comment or curse, rolling of the eyes, or snipping like that of a threatened snake. Eventually, Severus wound up passed out on the couch, an empty wine glass on the floor and Hermione's wrinkled essay tightly clutched to his chest. Sammie had given up on the treatment she so readily deserved and settled down by her master's feet, her beauty rest occasionally broken by Severus's heavy bouts of snoring.

Now, Severus found himself worse for the wear, nursing an excruciating headache and reading Hermione's essay yet again, several times over. The swotty know-it-all had composed a superlative analysis that touched on Severus's own professional research into the comparative genomics of plant pathogens. Somehow, either by way of reading into his mind frame via his previously published works, or through another unknown avenue, Hermione had expanded upon a selection of hypothesis Severus was presently gathering research on his own. To his unnerving amazement, the smart young woman hadn't just been blowing smoke up his arse when she'd told him that he may find her essay 'insightful'.

_She meant every bloody word of it. Damn her!_

Severus issued a long, suffering groan. He couldn't ignore the pounding plaguing his temples any longer nor could he remain seated on the cold, hard surface of his floor another moment.

_Damn. It. All._

After gingerly rising to his feet, Severus crossed, barefooted, to his kitchen to conjure his usual remedy for combating persistent headaches: a batch of dried feverfew flowers steeped in hot water. He stretched and yawned several times whilst waiting for the water in the pot to come to a boil, but he wasn't alone with his thoughts for long. A soft meow and a leap onto the counter a moment later and Sammie had joined him near the working stove, intent on being patted and stroked at long last.

"I hope this makes up for last night?" Severus intoned hopefully to the purring black feline, who seemed to answer his question by lightly licking his knuckles; she then turned around and waltzed to the other end of the counter to lay down before a bit of sunshine seeping through Severus's kitchen window.

Severus adjusted his glasses and finished making his solution, steeping the feverfew flowers in the boiling hot water for about ten minutes before sampling its results to ensure its strong potency. Satisfied, he steadily drank the contents until, eventually, his headache started to subside, allowing him to focus his precious efforts on more important matters at hand, such as stamping a final grade on Hermione's essay.

Severus frowned as he took a seat at the kitchen table, the girl's crinkled, thoroughly read-through paper in front of him. In the heat of a handful of aggravating moments between yesterday's and today's musings, he'd penned quite a few heavy-handed notes himself in whatever empty margins of Hermione's paper he could find. Nearly the entire essay was now covered in red ink splotches and scribbles, some violent, some collected and calm. He knew he should probably be feeling badly about offering so much unfriendly commentary on Hermione's hard work, but, in a pitiful way, seeing so much red ink made Severus feel absurdly vindicated.

_Guilt-tripping, my arse_, he reflected sorely and reached forward—red pen in hand—to finalise Hermione's grade.

Suddenly, Sammie's furry paw was swiping at his writing hand, and, in the next instant, she was sitting on top of where he was about to pen her grade, yellow eyes staring up at him critically, if cats could do such a thing.

"What?" Severus challenged as though he expected the cat to start rowing with him. "She's getting what she deserves. A 75% should suffice."

Sammie meowed and twitched her pink nose, prompting Severus to raise a curious eyebrow. Another deeply lined frown sharpened along his mouth.

"I'm not failing her, Sammie. Considering she didn't hand in her paper on time—"

Another strong-willed meow interrupted his argument.

"Well, she can't ace an essay she turned in a week late, no matter how good it is! It wouldn't be fair to her peers who did the work _on time_."

An angry-sounding hiss responded to Severus's stubborn stance, however.

"Since when have _you_ suddenly gone all soft on these wretched kids?"

A quieter meow met that inquiry. Severus sighed and slumped back in his wooden chair.

"So, what do _you_ propose, dare I ask?"

At once, Sammie's ears perked up and she studied the essay she was sitting on a long moment, tail mindlessly flapping back and forth. Then she reached out a paw to pat at the bottom of the page number, just above Hermione's last name.

Severus growled and narrowed his eyes at his familiar, seemingly understanding cat language. "I had a feeling you'd suggest that."

Sammie didn't vocally respond, though, only gazed up at him, somehow all-knowingly. It was enough to make the professor throw up his hands in defeat.

"Fine then! Have it your way," he grumbled and snatched the essay from underneath Sammie's paws.

The cat took little offence and merely resituated herself on her stomach, watching rather lazily as Severus's pen drew towards the top of the paper, paused hesitantly, and then scribbled a resigned 88% in vibrant red ink. It seemed to have taken all of his willpower to use his writing hand, but Severus quickly tossed his pen aside, threw Hermione's graded essay into his satchel that was draped over his chair, and ran a hand through his salt and pepper tresses, looking thoroughly dissatisfied, either with himself, Sammie, or the grade he'd just finalised. Perhaps it was a combination of all three.

It took Severus a while to finally move out of the sanctuary of his kitchen, but, in the midst of his prolonged silence, he'd quietly determined to shower, shave, and head back to university. He'd called off work earlier that morning, using his headache as an excuse for staying in for the day, but, now, the usual comforts of his tiny flat wouldn't suffice. If he didn't get out, he might crawl out of his skin.

That didn't mean he intended to go back to work, though. If Severus was lucky, he contemplated as he made his way to campus by car, he might spot a certain curly-haired aggravator somewhere close to university—perhaps even at that café they'd happened across each other last. Then again, if he was lucky, he might _not_ bump into Hermione Granger at all...

_And, thus, not be forced to shovel out the apology you bloody well owe her._

* * *

As fortune would have it, luck was or wasn't on Severus's side, depending on how one looked at it.

Despite dropping by the café close to university where he and Hermione had crossed paths before, and for some two days in a row, Severus and his former student never encountered one another. He'd repeatedly shoved himself into a corner and played around on his laptop for a while in the hopes that she might miraculously appear. Each time she didn't show, though, Severus wasn't sure whether to feel disappointed or relieved.

_Relief, Severus. Go with relief. Perhaps you'll finally get this bloody infatuation of yours out of your system and move on._

Unfortunately, that wasn't to be the case. On the third day, Severus found himself at the same café, only this time he opted to show his face before the usual student rush that bombarded the popular establishment around seven forty-five in the morning. Perhaps he'd missed her before by showing up later in the morning. He seated himself at the window to have a better lookout for any young female customers heading in for a cup of coffee or a hot breakfast sandwich.

_For God's sake, Severus, what are you now? Some middle-aged, lecherous sycophant?_

Alas, as before, Hermione Granger never showed. As kismet would have it, though, someone else did.

"Ah, Severus! You're looking well. Feeling better, are we?"

"Lupin," Severus muttered as quietly as could be, attempting to keep his severe dislike of said person out of his voice; he purposely kept his eyes on his laptop, however, not wishing to allure the professor into taking a seat and making himself comfortable.

_Fuck_, he cursed inwardly when Lupin proceeded to do precisely that, slipping into the chair opposite him with a cup of coffee swaddled in one gloved hand. He unraveled his burgundy-coloured scarf that had been coiled around his flushed face and shivered.

"Ye gods, it's nippy out there this morning. Winter's come early this year, I reckon."

Severus only grunted, refusing to look up from his laptop. Maybe if he made no eye contact the hairy cad would bugger off and leave him in peace.

"I was sorry to hear you'll be missing our little work-related get-together next week," Lupin rambled on, much to Severus's chagrin. "Are you sure you won't change your mind?"

_Not unless Hell freezes over._

"No," Severus answered matter-of-factly, providing no wiggle room for negotiation.

"You missed our last get-together, too, you know."

Severus's pale face didn't so much as break for reaction. "Did I?"

"Yes," Lupin seemingly forced a chuckle. The professor was either oblivious to the obvious conveyance from Severus that he wasn't wanted or was wilfully choosing to ignore his repeated brush-offs. "It's too bad, really..."

"Is it?" Severus offered, again, without emotion.

Lupin's smile lessened a fraction. He'd been eying Severus with interest, but his surly colleague's focus remained adamantly elsewhere, though Lupin noted that Severus's eyes weren't much roving over whatever was on his computer screen.

"Yes, _I_ think so. We'd love for you to join us sometime, Severus, if you're up to it. You were invited because we _want_ you there—"

"Then I'm sorry to have disappointed you," Severus interrupted, that deep register oozing with underlying ridicule.

Finally, Lupin's sunny disposition fell flat, his smile dissipating into a concerned frown, though Severus still hadn't met his gaze. He dropped what Severus surmised to be nothing but rubbish pretence and spoke frankly, raising his elbows onto the table.

"I stopped by your office the other day but was told you were out sick. I'd wanted to discuss another matter with you."

"Oh?"

"Yes," he paused and gritted his teeth, "provided you'd be so kind as to _look_ at me, considering what I'm about to tell you is a matter of urgency."

At last, Severus and Lupin locked eyes, but Severus took a pregnant pause to do so. He slowly peered up from this laptop screen, his countenance unruffled or affected.

"Go on," he proposed.

The tension on the sandy blond professor's face eased somewhat, but he continued to eye Severus seriously. He leaned forward in his chair and cleared his throat.

"It's about... Well, to get directly to the point, Severus, it's about a mutual student of ours: a Miss Hermione Granger."

Despite wishing to keep his disposition of indifference intact, Severus's hard expression dissolved—slightly—into one of surprise. Of all the names Lupin could have dropped on him, Severus would never have guessed Hermione would be one of them. He angled his head as casually as possible, feigning disinterest.

"I trust you're familiar with her? She is—erm, _was_—in your Plant Sciences course until fairly recently, wasn't she?"

At once, Severus's defences went up. How did Lupin know she'd dropped his class? His dark eyes narrowed behind his spectacles.

"She recently dropped my course, yes," he replied without giving hint to the suspicions he now carried.

Lupin nodded and shot Severus a sullen look. "I must ask you, Severus, though I don't mean to pry—"

"Then be sure that you don't, Lupin."

Lupin's thoughtful eyes squinted from across the table, but he quickly pressed on, "I'm only inquiring out of concern for Miss Granger. How is it," he barrelled on before Severus could get a word in, "that one of the most brilliant, most dedicated students this university has had in decades—"

"That's a tad overstated, Lupin, wouldn't you say?"

"—was found sitting on the floor outside my office three days ago sobbing her eyes out, blabbering on and on for some twenty minutes or so before I could get her to calm down enough to tell me what was the matter about how she could never please you and needed to drop your class?"

Severus was brought up short by this information but recovered from it just as swiftly. "Come again?" he challenged Lupin through a sneer that his colleague matched by way of an accusatory glare of his own.

"She was in complete hysterics, Severus—sobbing, inconsolable—and rattled to me for over an hour about how greatly she's been struggling in your class to get ahead. She thinks you have a personal vendetta against her!"

"And, pray tell, Lupin, why do you feel a student's whine fest regarding how unbearably unfair she finds academic life to be warrants anyone's pity, least of all my own?"

Lupin's squinting eyes lessened into slits, and the next question he fired off shook Severus much deeper inside than he let slip. "What _exactly_ do you have against Miss Granger?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"Are you finally so hell-bent and determined to see a most capable student destroyed that _nothing_ will sway you to behave with more kindness?"

"_What the hell are you—_"

"It wasn't enough that your ill treatment of Mr Potter last term—"

"_How dare you_," Severus snarled and bore his teeth; he slammed his laptop shut, and the sound was loud enough to garner other nervous customers' attentions.

"—bordered on unprofessional; you just _had_ to, no matter what the emotional cost to an innocent, bring his good friend, Miss Granger, down due to your own prejudices,_ isn't that right?_"

"What you're accusing me of," Severus only just managed to get out in a calculated manner; he could feel an infuriated heat radiating from his cheeks and trickling down to his neck, "I won't stand for it. _Leave, Lupin._ This instant; or shall I make you."

Lupin didn't budge, however. "I can't, in good conscience, believe for one second that Miss Granger has actually been performing as poorly in your class as her grades from you reflect."

"Then that is your inconsequential belief, Lupin. Nothing more. I won't ask you again—"

"Which begs the question you have yet to answer: what do you have against Miss Granger that has you so riled you'll risk your professional career by tampering with the girl's emotions and her grades in order to ensure that she sinks?"

In a split second, Severus was on his feet and hovering over the table, one hand grasping either side. Lupin reared back an inch or two but mostly held his ground, even as Severus's black eyes threatened to tear him apart.

"I will _not_ sit here and tolerate any more of your ridiculous allegations. You wish to challenge my academic integrity? You can do so via the proper channels, Lupin, if you so dare!"

"Severus, I'm asking you off the record because I want to get to the bottom of this—"

"_No._ You wish to report me. You've been looking for the opportunity for God knows how long!" Severus ploughed over him, as if the man hadn't spoken. "You go right ahead, Lupin, but I warn you: this is a matter of my word and my good standing with this university against a meagre, petulant student."

"Severus, really! I just want to—"

"Good day, Lupin."

With that brisk dismissal, Severus snatched up his sable coat, green scarf, and leather satchel and took off at full speed, swinging one of the café doors so hard on his way out that several customers, who were waiting in a long queue for their orders, gasped and darted sideways to avoid being struck.

Severus was half-way down the block, satchel loosely flung over one shoulder, when he became aware that Lupin was following him. He had nearly reached the end of the street when the sound of fast-moving boots came up behind him and he was forced to take off two strides to Lupin's one.

"_For God's sake, man!_" Lupin huffed after him, wheezing to keep pace. "All I'm asking is that you do the right thing!"

"Leave how I conduct myself in my _own_ classroom to me, Lupin, or I warn you!" Severus growled over his shoulder, refusing to slow down.

"I'm just trying to get you to see reason, Severus! I _know_ Miss Granger! I've had her in two classes before! She's a bright, eager young woman of the highest integrity and intentions and—"

At last, Severus halted, whipped himself around and nearly collided with Lupin, who was quite grateful to take a moment to rest his legs and catch his breath, not to mention bundle up against the menacing chill in the air. Severus, on the other hand, ignored the wintry wind rippling through his hair and piercing his skin, reserving only angry eyes for Lupin.

"_She_ chose to drop my course, Lupin. I didn't force Miss Granger to do anything, do you understand me? I didn't suggest that she quit; I didn't suggest that she wasn't capable or good enough or anything of the sort. She came to that conclusion on her own and it's now hers to reckon with!"

"Severus, surely, she deserves a second chance?"

"What on earth makes _you_ think you can just show up on my free time and demand that I do anything where Miss Granger is concerned—"

"Because Miss Granger didn't _want_ to drop your course, Severus!" Lupin exclaimed, taking the opportunity to throw half of his scarf over his shoulder to further protect himself from the brittle cold. "She felt _pushed_ to drop your class in order to leave her academic integrity in good standing. Perhaps she was wrong to assume you had it out for her, but—"

"_Perhaps?_" Severus snarled through clenched teeth.

"—she had been working ridiculously hard to earn her keep, Severus! Don't think I haven't seen how overwrought she's looked in my own classroom these past two months. You've been breaking her spirit."

Severus could no longer maintain self-control. He threw back his head and hissed, "_Oh, for fuck's sake!_" but Lupin pushed on.

"I can't idly standby and watch you seek to destroy a perfectly capable and incredibly smart student's academic honours, Severus. I just can't."

"_What on—_"

"No matter how greatly you despise her best friend!"

Then, the preposterousness of Lupin's illogical claims came to a head, and Severus jolted where he stood, frozen at the end of the block, with nothing to protect him from oncoming winter's frost-ridden grip. He narrowed his eyes, his face contorting in fury.

"I knew _nothing_ of Miss Granger's relations with the infamous Mr Potter."

Lupin visibly rattled at that. "Oh! I... You didn't?" he questioned in surprise, though he retained some suspicion in his brown eyes.

"Not until this bloody moment I didn't, _no_!"

"Oh... Well, I... Blimey, I - I'd assumed..."

Severus squared his jaw and stepped closer, hawklike face filled with rage as Lupin's suddenly deflated. "Get your fucking facts straight first, Lupin, before you _ever_ accuse me of academic wrongdoing."

"That's what I've been trying to get to the bottom of!" Lupin feebly tried to argue.

"_No_," Severus insisted in a soft but chilling tone, nostrils flaring, though he miraculously kept his cool. "Since you are so persistent in meddling where it isn't warranted, I'll have you know, Lupin, that I'd been waiting around that bloody café the past several mornings in a row in the hopes of encountering Miss Granger."

Lupin's shock at this revelation was Severus's fuel for revenge. His eyebrows nearly rose to his hairline.

"Oh! You were?"

"Yes, you bloody ingrate."

"Now see here, Severus, there's no need to—"

"And I assumed Miss Granger wouldn't take kindly to an impersonal e-mail; I'd preferred to meet with her face to face regarding her decision to drop my class."

"_Really_?" Lupin's eyes immediately brightened like a beacon of hope at this glimpse into Severus's plan. "Then you'll speak to her? About giving her a second chance?"

"_That_ is none of your ruddy business, Lupin," Severus came down on him harshly, and earned a sheepish blush from his colleague. "I'd had it sorted until _you_ decided to fucking start prodding your head into matters that don't concern you."

To make matters better—or worse—Lupin reacted to Severus's verbal spat with a smile. "Dully noted." Severus glared him down, forcing Lupin to awkwardly adjust his coat and cough. "So, erm, you will meet with Miss Granger then?"

"That's what I just said, didn't I?"

"And will encourage her to continue?" Lupin pressed for clarity, ignoring Severus's overt distemper.

"Enough, Lupin. Leave well enough alone, would you? Like I said, I have it sorted."

With that, Severus briskly turned on his heel and took off again, not chancing a glance back. Whether Lupin followed him another several paces or not, he hadn't a clue, but he didn't ruddy well care. He needed to get back to his office; he was freezing his bits off and would have to try catching Hermione another day.

"Give her another chance, Severus!" he vaguely heard Lupin call after him, though he determinedly pushed ahead in the direction of the entrance to university. "Miss Granger deserves it!"

_Don't I already fucking know it!_ Severus thought to himself, biting down hard on his tongue to prevent the words from escaping his lips.

* * *

Hermione sat idly by the window of the café she'd stopped at for her usual egg and cheese sandwich, only now it was noon, and she intended on enjoying not breakfast but a hot hazelnut latte by her lonesome.

Ron had phoned earlier about meeting him and Harry for lunch, but Hermione was disinclined to be around anyone—not even the boys—and feigned not feeling well as her pardon to be excused. Normally, she would have jumped at the opportunity to see her best mates, even for a spare hour or two, but that hadn't been the case for the past several days in a row. She could tell by the fickleness in Ron's voice on the phone that he was worried; Harry, too. All Hermione desired lately was to be alone with her thoughts, though. So far, neither of her friends had pressed her for an explanation, and she hoped that would at least last through the weekend.

Hermione lazily sipped her latte. Professor Lupin had suggested they meet here today around this time to go over her proposed studies now that she was dropping Snape's class, so she'd moseyed to the window, passing the time while she waited for Lupin by people watching, and trying to enjoy her own company.

_How's that working out for you?_

Hermione sighed, dropped her chin into the palm of her hand, and stared out the window. It had been sunny when she'd entered forty-five minutes ago. Now, the sky was overcast and the nip in the air had apparently picked up. Students and all manner of people were scrambling to and from university, hats pulled down and scarves fastened to their faces as they braved the powerful November gust en route to whatever destination they had in mind.

Hermione cradled her warm styrofoam cup, grateful to be indoors, out of the cold, and comfortable, though she wished she'd brought other reading material with her. In haste, and in a rare feat of being unprepared for class this morning, she'd left her flat without the correct books in hand. Instead of the textbooks she needed for her eight o'clock class, she'd opened her duffel bag to find Professor Snape's published works strewn in amongst her belongings. She would have screamed and cursed (and perhaps even thrown them against the wall) if she hadn't been in a public lecture hall at the time.

Hermione scowled at the stack of familiar books on the table. She needed to make a trip to the library to hand them in, and fast.

_So why the hell haven't you?_ that inconsiderate voice in her head decided to chime in.

_Because I haven't had time!_

_Oh. Right. As you sit here twirling your thumbs and sipping that latte that has far too much milk and sugar in it._

_Oh, do be quiet, please._

_Fat chance. When will you turn those in?_

_I intend to!_

_When?_

_Soon..._

_Mmmhmm._

_What's that obnoxious 'mmmhmm' supposed to imply?_

_Nothing you don't already know._

_Oh, for goodness' sake!_

Hermione wasn't aware of huffing loud enough to be overheard, or that she was no longer free of an audience.

"Miss Granger?"

Hermione blinked and noticed a pair of scaly-skinned boots, charcoal-coloured trousers, a grey tweed jacket with matching vest, and a dark green tie standing beside her and sent her chair screeching backward. Her scanning eyes slowly, lastly, reached the individual's face and her heart, which was already pumping a mile a minute, catapulted into her throat, causing her to stammer and nearly choke on her tongue.

_Oh...shite._

Sure enough, blinking didn't make him disappear. It was Professor Snape in the flesh, standing handsomely before her empty table and staring down his fine, hooked nose at her in that inscrutable manner that both enticed and galled her to no foreseeable end. Hermione could only blush under the severity of those intense onyx eyes; her mouth had gone too dry to speak.

"Miss Granger," Snape repeated with emphasis; he wasn't smiling but he also didn't look like he wanted to take her out over the curb and smack her across the behind either.

_Blimey, Hermione! Where did_ that _visual come from?_

"Am I interrupting something?" he pressed softly for a reply, which Hermione finally granted.

"Oh!" She started and squirmed in her chair. "Erm, no... Not at all."

Snape gave an apathetic nod towards the empty chair opposite her. "Then may I?" he suggested, startling her further, though she tried to disguise her discomfort.

"All - All right."

Snape swiftly took a seat and tossed his satchel over the chair, that singular silver strand of hair escaping from behind his ear and falling beautifully into his face. Hermione chewed her bottom lip, the sudden urge to touch it nearly overpowering her ability to stay put. She writhed in her chair a bit, catching Snape's curious eye.

"Are you sure it's all right if I sit?" he asked with a strange concern in his voice that affected Hermione more than she anticipated.

"Yes! I mean, erm, it's fine, really. I..." She paused to draw breath. "I'm surprised to see you here is all."

Snape actually smirked, leaving Hermione more tongue tied than ever; that half-cocked smile wasn't seemingly obligatory but genuine.

"Actually, I've been here the past several days in a row."

Hermione's couldn't have disguised her surprise had she wanted to. "Oh?"

"Mmm," Snape replied with a minuscule nod. "I'd been hoping to catch you, as a matter of fact."

"M - Me?" Hermione stammered, her confusion mounting; she crinkled her nose and arched an eyebrow.

"Yes. _You._"

Evidently, Hermione hadn't misheard the professor, and she sucked in another sharp breath, the nerves fluttering in the pit of her stomach increasing. She decided now was a good time as any to ask what had been weighing heavily on her mind the past few days.

"Have you... Well, have you had a chance to read my essay?" She could only determine that was the reason for Snape's attempts at hunting her down; why else would he have approached her? Surely, he wanted to present her with her final grade.

_And have the last word, no doubt, unlike he'd had in his office._

"Indeed, I have," said Snape.

Hermione waited across the table with baited breath as Snape turned sideways and reached into his satchel to retrieve a stapled series of papers, which were, as it turned out, horribly wrinkled and even stained in a few spots—at least, from what Hermione could surmise at a glimpse.

_Is that...a wine stain? Coffee, perhaps?_

Hermione gave a censorious frown that Snape easily unscrambled. His jaw was set taught on his angular face as he handed her paper back.

"Forgive the state of things, if you would," he offered simply; Hermione quietly took her essay in hand, though not without trembling fingers unintentionally brushing his. She thought she caught his eyes flicker in response, but that could have been her imagination. "I have a tendency to drink heavy amounts of caffeine when I grade and am prone to clumsiness."

Hermione's frown deepened. Somehow, she couldn't visualise the always agile professor tripping over his own feet or spilling hot drinks on himself like her dearly inept Ronald Weasley was prone to doing on a regular basis. No, Professor Snape was much more put together than that; or so she had convinced herself.

Hermione glanced down at the essay she'd worked her arse off and then some to fulfil, her heart pummelling faster at the various ink markings, notes, and scribbles that covered the first page. Had she been horribly mistaken in thinking she might have actually managed to impress the impossible man this time? Judging by the state of the first page of her essay, and, subsequently, the many thereafter, one would surmise otherwise.

"You're dissatisfied?" Snape's low register barely reached her ears; she could sense them turning bright red, along with the rest of her shame-filled face.

Hermione forced herself to meet Snape's eyes. The look he bore was a mixture of careful study and perplexity. What was he expecting her to say? 'Thank you for thinking my hard work to be complete rubbish'?

"I..."

Any appropriate remarks were lost on her tongue. She was suddenly wrestling overwhelming feelings of dread, hurt, infuriation, and bafflement all at once.

"Miss Granger," Snape started to respond, slowly raising one pale hand in the air whilst inching forward in his chair simultaneously, "I must tell you, you did...remarkably well, especially when compared to your less than adequate peers."

Hermione was stumped. The man was _complimenting_ her? The funny look she bore mirrored her uncertain response.

"Sir?"

"Even considering the untimeliness that you turned it in," Snape continued in an unusual carefree tone, "and unlike anyone else's I was forced to sift through and grade, _your_ essay was well worth waiting for. I was...impressed, Miss Granger. Very much so."

The puzzled frown Hermione maintained caused Snape to finally slink back, sigh weightily, and signal to the paper in front of her with those enigmatic eyes of his. "Perhaps you ought to take a look at your grade, Miss Granger," he proposed quietly, maintaining his patience, "before rushing to any morbid conclusions my many scribbles might otherwise imply."

Although highly disinclined to chance a peek—more out of fear of failure than anything else; Snape's red ink pen had worked itself overtime on her essay and she had yet to read through his many comments—Hermione forced herself to glance down at the first page of her essay, holding in her breath in the process. The 88% she discovered circled in bright red sent an immense wave of relief washing over her contorted features, the indication of reassurance surfacing at long last. Having expected a far worse grade from the seemingly intolerant professor, Hermione couldn't have been happier with the score granted, and, following the alleviation that melted her angst-ridden aversions, she jerked forward in her chair and let out a small squeal of excitement that didn't bypass her one-time instructor.

"Are you still dissatisfied?" Snape benevolently cut into her elated musings a moment or so later.

Hermione, who had been gathering her thoughts together, beamed from ear to ear as their eyes met. Unknowingly, the hope-filled smile she wore sent a comforting warmth seeping through Snape's bloodstream, like the gentle ripples that expand through uncharted waters.

"No, sir," she answered, pleased and unable to contain her joy. "Not at all! I— I mean— Erm, thank you! _Thank you so much!_"

"You needn't thank me, Miss Granger—"

"Oh, but I should!"

"_No_," Snape protested with feeling, making Hermione rear back and close her mouth, her smile diminishing. "In fact, it is _I_, Miss Granger, who owe _you_ something; something not akin to gratitude but..." He swallowed thickly before continuing, "An apology."

Hermione's eyes widened in amazement. She was half tempted to pinch herself to be sure this dialogue was actually taking place between them: her, the capable and eager-to-please student and Snape, the snide professor with impossible standards. First, there was that greeting of his that one might actually deem 'friendly', despite Snape's hard-ridden features and inability to smile much; second, she'd received a much better grade than originally anticipated, as well as unexpected high praises from the man himself—someone who _never_ dished out compliments as Hermione had quickly unearthed at the beginning of term; and, now, he was about to offer her an _apology_?

_Has the world gone mad? Will I wake up from this unattainable dream in a minute?_

"I assure you, Miss Granger, this is _not_ a whim," Snape abruptly broke into her preoccupied thoughts, as though he was capable of reading her mind at that moment; of course, that was complete nonsense, not to mention impossible, but his perfectly timed words still shocked her. "It's something I've given considerable thought to lately. I owe it to you."

Hermione remained silent and still, awaiting the professor's words with her heartbeat pounding against her chest. Her hands felt clammy and sweaty all of a sudden. Why on earth was _she_ nervous when she wasn't the one doing the talking?

"I know I've been..._difficult_...this term," Snape began, evidently choosing his words carefully as he scrutinised her meditatively from where he sat. "I have ridiculously high standards, I know, which my colleagues, at times, have sought to remind me of. I don't believe the calibre I set is impossible for anyone to achieve, but I _do_ expect a great deal from my students. I don't coddle anyone; I never have. You're all considered young adults by now and will be expected to perform to the greatest ability you are capable of once you leave the comforts of university life behind."

Snape paused to rake his long fingers through his hair, silver strands catching the fragments of light seeping in through the window, particularly the lightest one at the front. Hermione found the visual spellbinding and was unable to keep from staring. Snape didn't appear to have noticed his former student's unabashed ogling, however, and continued with his thoughts.

"If you felt I was singling you out amongst your peers the past few months, then you would be entirely correct. I don't pick on students for the sake of derision or to embarrass them, though I _am_ harsh—harsher than most—but if you felt mistreated by my teaching methods than, I assure you, it was unintentional injury on my part. I tend to be hardest on the students whom I feel are the most capable in my classes; the smartest of the lot; those who will take what I have to offer and impress me with it. You proved yourself up to the task of being challenged time and time again, Miss Granger. _That_ is why I was so tough on you: because _you_ were—and are—the most likely to go exceptionally far once you've completed your studies, not just in my own classroom but at university level itself."

Issuing another cumbersome sigh, Snape adjusted his glasses that were slinking down the bridge of his nose and stared intensely into Hermione's eyes. His stare caused her to blush to the roots of her hair. She couldn't look away, though, no matter how fervent the professor's eye contact was proving.

"I apologise that my methods of challenging you made you feel worse. I apologise for the hard-hearted manner with which I often addressed you in the classroom. It wasn't to belittle you but to provoke you to work harder; I realise, however, that that was not how my directions were often perceived, and I don't blame you for, in the end, choosing to drop my class."

"Oh, no, sir, I don't—"

"Furthermore," Snape carried on, ignoring Hermione's sudden attempt to cut in, "I can assure you, you'll be dropping my class in good standing. It won't affect your honours as they stand, and I'm sure that's something you've been worried about since coming to this decision. You won't have any further qualms or issues from my standpoint, and you'll receive the grade you've worked hard to earn. I give you my word."

Then Snape went quiet. Hermione, who had been hanging on every word the man was uttering, leaned further into the table, adamant to get her own thoughts out.

"Sir, I... Thank you for your apology, and for explaining your teaching methods more clearly to me." Although somewhat stumbling with how to reply, Hermione rushed through with what she felt compelled to get out. "I... I wasn't sure for a while whether you _did_ harbour ill feelings towards me for whatever reason, or if I was just being overly sensitive. In any case, I... I felt stretched so thin that I couldn't cope with the pressures any longer. I gave up, and I regret that. I didn't want to drop your class, I swear, but, well..." Hermione paused, intelligent brown eyes surveying Snape's with less passion than moments ago. "I felt that there was just no pleasing you, sir. I... I'm sorry if I let you down."

Hermione's mouth then slumped, as did the rest of her face. Snape blinked back his surprise and marginally shook his head, eyebrows meshing together in a grave fashion.

"You didn't let me down, Miss Granger. You never have. Ultimately, it is _I_ who failed _you_."

At this, Hermione peered over at Snape again. Her astonishment at his compelling confession notwithstanding, she projected a thoughtful, small smile to him.

"I suppose we'll both have to agree to disagree somewhere along the line...sir."

Snape's thin mouth shifted into a small smile as well, raven eyes contemplative and a touch bewitching. "Perhaps we must," he concurred softly, and those eyes slowly drifted from Hermione to her essay and back again.

"Well," he piped up after clearing his throat, bringing their obliging exchange to a terse end, "I shan't keep you any longer than I already have, Miss Granger."

"Oh...!"

Before Hermione could object to the man's curt departure, Snape was suddenly on his feet and throwing his satchel over his shoulder. Stray hairs were hanging over his spectacles, and Hermione had a sudden incentive to weave them between her fingers. What would they feel like?

_Steady on, Hermione!_

"Take care, Miss Granger," Snape said in closing before bowing his head and taking his leave, though he stopped short a few paces from the door; Hermione would have called after him if he hadn't whipped his body around first, tweed jacket swishing with elegant flair. "Oh, and just for the record, I hadn't a clue you were at all acquainted with Mr Potter during the duration you were in my classroom; I was only made aware of the fact _after_ you'd dropped out."

A befuddled expression crossed Hermione's face—one Snape didn't quite understand—but he pressed on anyway. "Just in case you held any suspicions that I might have used your friendship with Potter against you."

"Oh! I... No, sir, I hadn't thought that at all—"

Unfortunately, Hermione got no further in explaining herself. She had never made such a connection, or thought that one even existed between how Snape treated her in class and her personal friendship with Harry. How Snape might have made that link and thought she had, too, was beyond her ability to comprehend, but she wasn't provided an opportunity to relay any of that to him.

Whether he heard the beginning of her reply or pretended not to, the professor swiftly turned on his heel and was out the door in the next second, striding down the street and disappearing into a crowd of passersby before Hermione could so much as make sense of the tail end to their conversation.

_So... That's it?_ she reflected, saddened, as the ponderous weight of hers and Snape's discussion hit her hard in the chest. Snape was gone, and now?

_And now..._

_You should've told him you weren't going to drop his course after all._

_I tried to! But..._

_You should've tried harder, Hermione._

_There's still time._

_What on earth do you mean? Snape's gone; you have no idea where he went._

_Not today, perhaps, but..._

_Ahhh, I see._ A short pause later, _Still intending to turn those books in then?_

_Yes, as a matter of fact..._

_Really? Why?_

Hermione downed the remainder of her latte with a cringe since most of it was now cold, seized her belongings, and bolted towards the exit, her wild mane crackling with electricity against the cold wind that rippled through it as she made her way down the street.

_Because I'd prefer my_ own _copies to peruse from now on, and I have an essay to look over before the next class._

* * *

As expected, Snape was seated at the desk at the front of the lecture hall when Hermione came creeping in thirty minutes before class. She had barely made it to her usual spot when Snape spoke up in that low, silky drawl of his, "You could've spared yourself so much fidgeting the past several minutes in the hallway, Miss Granger. Simply coming in would've sufficed."

Snape's attention was directed towards a pile of books scattered in front of him, but Hermione was staring at him with astonishment nonetheless, one hand slipping its way onto her hip. "I'm beginning to think you have eyes in the back of your head, sir."

Snape didn't look up, but she could have sworn his eyes were smiling. "Perhaps I do," he replied plainly.

"_And_ can read minds," Hermione added with a teasing smirk of her own.

Still, Snape didn't peer up, scraggly hair dangling attractively in his face. "That's a new one I haven't heard."

"Really? Maybe it's just me then."

"Maybe it is," came his pleasant response.

Hermione's smile broadened. She quickly busied herself with getting her belongings in order, grateful to have a distraction from the otherwise obvious blush that was presently lighting up her cheeks. She had just sat down in her chair, second cup of coffee in hand, when Snape unexpectedly spoke again. This time, Hermione's eyes locked with his, satisfied to find he was now meeting her gaze.

"I'm glad to see you've changed your mind," he murmured so gently Hermione thought she'd melt into her chair.

Once she'd recovered, she impishly brushed a few curls behind her ears and tried to keep from chewing her bottom lip. "I tried to tell you that the other day but..."

"But?" Snape pressed as considerately as before.

"You walked out the door before I could tell you."

A substantial pause followed that revelation. Snape eventually replied with an, "I see," that seemingly implied more than he was letting on.

Still smiling, Hermione was disappointed when Snape awkwardly turned away to resume whatever he was reading, though he muttered rather too hastily under his breath, "Perhaps you'd care to join me at the end of class."

Hermione tried to suppress the eagerness that was suddenly fluttering in her chest. "Sir?" she asked outright, afraid she may have misheard him.

Again, Snape peered up from his stack of books, his expression strange and unreadable but not unpleasant. "Coffee?" he suggested quietly. "At the usual spot?"

"Oh! I... Sure!" Hermione reacted at once, feeling somewhat foolish for responding so hurriedly; she probably sounded terribly desperate, but she was excited nevertheless.

A sliver of a smile upturned the corners of Snape's mouth, relieving some of Hermione's nerves. His eyes darted back to his work.

"Very well."

* * *

Hermione was a bundle of nerves as she and the professor strolled the pathway towards the front gates at a measured, leisurely gait. They hadn't conversed much at all since Hermione had waited for Snape to gather his things together after class, lead her down the stairs and out the door.

Now, they were walking side by side, the occasional silence between them broken not by either party but by crisp falling leaves, the sound of the wind blowing through their hair, or students passing by and conversing merrily with one another. It wasn't uncomfortable, but Hermione thought she should probably fill the silence with...something. Evidently, her professor didn't think the same.

'At the usual spot.'

Hermione had barely been able to focus for most of class, the utterance of those four words Snape had said earlier delighting and consuming her mind for most of the next ninety minutes, despite the professor's repeated sneers and gripes and general disenchantment with her classmates' participation. For once, Hermione didn't actually mind his harsh mood or distemper. Then again, perhaps that was because she'd been mostly left alone.

McLaggen had made a spectacle of Hermione's return when he'd showed up with only minutes to spare, and went into a tirade of harassing her for answers about why she'd been absent of late. Hermione adamantly refused to provide him with an answer, though, and turned him down yet again when he tried to insist they meet up before the next class.

McLaggen was probably the only drawback to continuing Snape's course, and Hermione could only surmise that it showed on her face following class, for the professor suddenly state with a mostly concealed smirk, "Your classmate behind you seems quite thrilled to have you back."

Hermione studied him sidelong, determining that Snape was poking fun at her expense. "The feeling isn't mutual."

"No?"

"Oh, don't get me wrong, I _am_ happy to be back, sir. Just not particularly thrilled to have _him_ bugging me to no end."

Snape nodded, continuing to look ahead rather than at her. "If he's giving you any trouble, Miss Granger, I can have him relocated to another part of the room."

Taken aback by that suggestion, Hermione chuckled and gathered the sling of her bag. "Oh, no, sir, thank you, but it's fine. I can handle him."

"I daresay you could," Snape left Hermione even more flummoxed by conveying with ease. "And you needn't call me 'sir'."

"Sorry... _Professor._"

"In the classroom, of course, that's mandatory. Over coffee, it only makes the conversation stuffy."

Hermione frowned, bemused. "Then what should I call you?"

Finally, Snape turned to her, evidence of an arresting smile etched across his lips that momentarily made Hermione's heart freeze. "Severus will do just fine," he asserted, and, the utterance of his first name, along with the way his mouth moved, left Hermione momentarily paralysed.

_Severus... Yes... That_ will _do._

* * *

Coffee, or lunch as it turned into, with Snape—no, _Severus_—was much more enjoyable than Hermione could have bargained on. Not that she expected less, but her nerves dissipated the longer the professor engaged her in what was mostly light-hearted banter, much to her pleasant surprise.

Their conversation started off with professional intentions on Severus's part and mostly centred around Hermione's well-written essay. He requested her thoughts on the comments he'd left, which were followed immediately by Hermione's desire for an elaboration from him on his musings regarding its relations to his research. There was some lively debating that quickly developed on_ that_ score, with both intellectual parties finding fault, as well as validation, to each other's individual stances. It never got heated, though; a mutual respect for one another was moulding and flourishing over the course of those precious hours spent in each other's company, with both quietly aware of its emotional impact.

It became clear closer to one o'clock that mere coffee—or tea, in Severus's case—wouldn't be adequate to keep their highly engaging conversations going. Not without proper nutrients. Thus, Hermione and Severus remained at the café and ordered lunch, resuming their 'spot' by the window and carrying on into the late afternoon, blissfully unaware of the time or other mundane engagements.

Hermione would later, upon giddy reflection, find herself marvelled by how easy it had been to communicate with the professor. After so many frustrating miscommunications over the past several months in the classroom, talking with Severus Snape outside of a university setting passed as easily as breathing, a feat that didn't happen very often in Hermione's case or, as it turned out, in his.

Severus was remarkably different outside of class, an enlightening observance Hermione felt blessed to be treated to. Instead of sneering and scowling, he was cordial (if not prone to forthrightness), attractively genteel, and even smiled on occasion. And, when he wasn't smiling, Hermione become acutely aware during the course of their lunch together that he tended to grin with his eyes. Those colourless irises twinkled, a series of fetching wrinkles stretching at the corners of his eyes; it left Hermione utterly bewitched, and a little tongue tied on occasion.

He was relaxed but focused, engaging and, at times, intense when it came to a topic he was passionate about, such as his latest research project, or, oddly enough, rugby, another quirky surprise Hermione unraveled about the man. He was an adamant football fan as well, and teased Hermione rather mirthlessly for a while about her disinterest in anything sports-related.

As for Severus, his observance of his pupil was much the same: intrigue and an increasing captivation with her fervour and spunk. Hermione, he discovered, was affable and sweetly innocent in many regards, yet fiery when it came to her academic studies. She had big plans for her future—aims that went well beyond what he had expected to ascertain. She wanted to be a professor herself and stay in the academic arena, which didn't shock him, but Severus made a point of stating that Hermione might wish to consider 'a life beyond the academic sphere.'

Normally, Severus scoffed at student's high-aiming objectives, for many who desired to make something of themselves were either too lazy to see it through or, as he often read from their behaviour within his first few classes or advising sessions, they intended to get to the top by riding other far smarter students' coattails. Of course, Hermione Granger was neither, and she was as fearless in her determination to make something of herself as she was naive about the real world beyond university life.

Severus found that he quite admired that about her: her naivety as much as her nerve. He had no idea how they'd managed to pass so many hours in the café without scruple, prattling on and on like friends rather than the student and mentor relations that were actually at play; but, in any case, neither felt their time had been wasted and even agreed to meet again the following week after class.

Instead, their next get-together would turn out to be the following day. When Hermione popped into the café the next morning for her usual breakfast sandwich, she was secretly ecstatic to find Severus present, seated in the far corner near the window and typing on his laptop, looking the epitome of casual sexual frustration.

_Good grief, Hermione. Get a grip, would you? He's your_ professor_._

_Then again, when the bloody hell did that ever matter to you?_

It wasn't entirely a 'happy coincidence' to Hermione to discover Severus there. She had purposely sought out the café, forcing herself out of bed at seven fifteen in the morning (even though she had nowhere to be at that hour) and sprucing herself up a bit, all in the hopes of possibly running into him. She had barely slept the night before—too frivolous with how great their meeting had gone to shut her elated brain off—and couldn't wait to chance running into the man again.

Severus never dropped a hint that him being at the café that morning had been a strategic plan of his own, but he _did_ look ridiculously handsome, wearing a crisp white business shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Two buttons below the neckline were unclasped and open, offering a tormenting view of his rather strong jugular notch that Hermione found wickedly attractive. On his left wrist was an antique-looking watch that Hermione would inquire about (it had once belonged to his grandfather), and his hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail—a beautifully simple visual Hermione had never seen him wear before—though a few strands had escaped, including that singular silver strand Hermione was so fond of.

"Are you following me, Miss Granger?" he seemingly toyed as she approached his table; Hermione wasn't certain, at first, if he was joking, until she saw that smile in his eyes, which were staring insistently at his laptop screen.

"I believe we've _both_ established ownership of this place," she jabbed back, inviting herself to sit opposite him.

"Hmm, this is true. That could prove a problem."

"Could it?" Hermione inquired innocently, and her question was received with the gaze of Severus's eye on hers.

"Not unless you feel it is? For myself, I don't mind."

Hermione readily smiled. "Then I don't either."

"Good." Just as Hermione settled in, bringing her coffee to her lips, Severus added, "Perhaps you would do me the honours of helping me finish the latest level I'm on?"

Hermione's smile deepened behind her cup. "I told you, I'm not much of a gamer."

"That doesn't matter. I'll teach you."

With a welcoming light toss of his head towards his side of the table, Hermione flushed red. However, she scooted her chair around so that it was directly beside him, and Severus turned his laptop sideways so that they could both see the screen properly.

As Severus began relating the rules of the game to her, Hermione found herself too easily distracted by the enticing whiff of cologne she smelt emitting from his personal space to focus. It was mixed was something else, too—something Hermione loved—like old, weathered books or the feel of soft, luxurious leather.

Hermione was embarrassed to have to have the rules repeated to her a few minutes later, but Severus evidently didn't mind and chuckled at her expense. For the next forty or so minutes, the unlikely pairing engaged in the professor's love of Space Quest, every so often bumping elbows or touching thighs beneath the table, causing them both to blush profusely and apologise. Hermione eased into playing the game with surprising proficiency and even earned herself another compliment when they ceased playing so that Severus could refill his cup of coffee and grab a muffin to eat before heading to his office for the day.

With reluctance, Hermione bustled her chair back to the opposite side of the table, bummed that their breakfast time would soon be coming to a close. When Severus returned to rejoin her, Hermione wasn't certain if she'd caught a dissatisfied flash in his eyes or if that had been her woeful imagination.

_Your woeful imagination, more like_, her conscience secretly berated.

They conversed effortlessly for another twenty minutes before Severus had to leave to prep for a class later that morning. They said their goodbyes, though Hermione could have sworn the professor appeared as hesitant and disappointed in ending their impromptu meeting as she felt, and agreed to still meet up next week after Plant Sciences. However, for the next two days in a row, their encounters would be much the same: more 'happy coincidences' over coffee, breakfast, and another level of Space Quest.

* * *

It was Saturday morning, and, for the first time in a long while, Hermione wasn't sure what the hell to do with herself. She didn't want to hole up in her flat and read all day—an oddity in itself, really—and her homework assignments had all been completed for the following week, giving her little academia to resort to.

Unintentionally, she'd woken up at seven on the dot and had started to jump out of bed when the day of the week grimly hit her overly eager mind, deflating her excitement as she slunk back down on her mattress.

Would Professor Sn—_Severus_—venture to the café on the weekend? Did he even live relatively close to the university that, if she chose to go walking around campus, she might chance running into him?

_If you actually get up and go seek him out again, Hermione, then you're officially desperate and should seek help immediately._

_Thanks for that!_

Hermione huffed and shot up from her bed, scratching and scrunching at her bedheaded curls as she padded her way to the loo. "Ugh," she groaned aloud at the tedious reflection that stared back at her in the mirror once she turned on the light. Her hair was a full-blown catastrophe this morning, and she knew from heavy-handed experience that she could either spend the better part of her morning untangling the various knots and padding her curls down into a semi-presentable state for the public or forego the damn process altogether and spend her time more productively.

_To hell with it._

Hermione absolved herself by quickly washing her face, brushing her teeth, and getting dressed. She was hungry but didn't want to make breakfast in her flat. Her roommate was thankfully still in bed, but, as soon as she was up, Hermione would be cursing herself for not exiting the place sooner.

_Bollocks. You're just hoping you'll run into Snape._

_Severus_, she argued with a small, lovesick smile.

_Like I said..._

With a dismissive sigh, Hermione hiked on a pair of worn boots, grabbed her winter coat from the front hall, and left her flat just before seven thirty. It wasn't so strange to be up this early, well before the rest of university folk her age came to life, only to be out in the open was certainly a new experience. Normally, Hermione remained cooped up in her flat, with hot tea or coffee and a book till at least eight thirty or nine. The street on her block, as well as the block ahead, was virtually deserted at this time of day, and Hermione's footsteps echoed loudly as she trudged towards university a short walking distance away.

Hermione crossed the street a block before reaching the café, an extra skip of anticipation in her gait the closer she drew. She could barely contain her smile as she threw open the door, half prepared to find a certain lanky, dark-haired gentleman with spectacles in the corner or right by the window to her right.

_Blast..._

There was no sign of Severus Snape anywhere. Hermione checked her watch and her disappointment increased. He seemed like as much a morning person as her, so, if he'd wanted breakfast or to chance meeting up with her, he'd have surely been there by now. She could wait around a bit to see if he might show up, but, a sinking feeling of foolishness overcame Hermione's reasoning for staying. She quietly turned on her heel and slipped out of the café as noiselessly as possible and chose to keep walking down the street in the direction of the university's front gates. She didn't necessarily have a destination in mind but...

_There's always the library_, she considered with a rare unenthusiastic sigh.

All of a sudden, she heard a commotion coming from behind and cautiously turned her head sideways into the sun. A sleek, white Lotus Elise was roaring towards her, slowing to a halt as it reached her part of the sidewalk. Hermione ceased walking and tried to peer into the glare of the darkened driver's window but was unable to make out a face until the window rolled down, sending her teeth on edge at the individual stationed behind the wheel.

_Oh, bugger._

"Hey, lass!" Cormac greeted with that infuriating, cocky grin of his.

Half tempted to tell him to go scratch, Hermione reeled in her composure, offered a curt 'hello', and resumed a faster-paced walk. Unfortunately, Cormac's car rumbled to life and followed her down the block.

"Hey!" he called out to her, whistling to her once or twice. "C'mon, lassie, don't be like that!"

Growing increasingly agitated, Hermione came to a full stop and whipped her head towards him, the heat in her chest rising. "What do you want?" she demanded not too kindly.

Cormac's cocksure grin broadened. "You're just the person I wanted to see!" He parked his car on the street, opened the driver's side door, and approached her. Hermione stumbled backward, taken aback by his aggression; she hadn't expected him to get out of his car.

"You can't just park there—" she started to reprimand him, but he immediately cut her off.

"No one will bother us, Granger, trust me." Cormac removed his shades and Hermione could see the red rims around his eyes, as well as smell the stench of alcohol on his breath. "I've been hoping to run into you for a while now."

Hermione shot him an unflattering glare. "Why?"

"'Cause I was hoping I might finally get you to have that cup of coffee with me."

Hermione stammered. The wanker really couldn't take 'no' for an answer.

"I'm sorry, no," she stated as firmly as possible; then she turned away to resume walking.

"Hey! Wait a minute!"

In the next instant, Hermione was unexpectedly grabbed by the elbow and pulled towards Cormac with force. She gasped and, at once, tried to step away.

"You're playing hard to get is getting a little old," he snorted to her, but Hermione shoved him away.

"Don't touch me!"

Cormac's smile suddenly flipped like a switch, and his eyebrows came together in anger. "Listen, I'm trying to be nice here—"

"Not by not taking 'no' for an answer, you're not," Hermione fired back; as she took another step backward, Cormac was suddenly in her personal space, both hands snatching her painfully by the wrists.

"I thought that was your idea of flirting."

"Well, it wasn't!" Hermione exclaimed and wiggled against his grasp. "Let go of me!"

"You shouldn't play around with guy's emotions like that, _lass_," he threatened with his reek-ridden, drink-induced mouth breathing on her face.

"I wasn't—"

"You're gonna make it up to me."

Hermione stopped writhing and stared up at him, this time imploringly. The street was basically deserted, she was only a short distance from the front gates, but Cormac had her so strongly by the wrists that she couldn't break free. Every time she fought against him, he tugged harder.

"Wha - What?"

"You heard me," he hissed, bearing his teeth. "Now, get in the car."

Hermione started as he pulled her aggressively towards the edge of the sidewalk. "What? _No!_"

"_Get in the fucking car, bitch!_" he scoffed louder.

Hermione struggled wildly against him, but Cormac threw an arm around her waist and hastened them both forward, despite her attempts to withdraw. By now, Hermione was near hysterical, screaming and clawing at Cormac's shirt, hair, face—whatever she could—to get away. Cormac tore at her hair and yanked her violently around the front bender, tore open the passenger side door with his other hand, and tried to shove her in.

_Oh my God! No!_ Hermione panicked, barely able to think straight._ No, no, no!_

Suddenly, and out of nowhere, Cormac lost his grip. Hermione toppled backward onto the street, catching her fall before she hit the ground. When she whirled her head around to see what had happened, Cormac was in an usual position: face-planted against the front of his car with his hands flailing helplessly behind him, his body shoved and manhandled to the point that he couldn't move.

"_Se - Severus?_" she half questioned, half cried out, astounded to find the professor in question hovering over Cormac's form, pale face personified with rage unlike anything Hermione had ever witnessed.

"Germoff!" Cormac was screaming—muffling—powerlessly. "Germoff me!"

"Just what the bloody hell do you think you're trying to pull, McLaggen?" Severus growled at his back, digging into Cormac's shoulders.

"N - Nothing—"

"_SHUT YOUR TRAP!_" Severus boomed, and Hermione rattled at the sheer force his voice carried; he lowered his face to Cormac's ear. "Now, you listen to _me_, you little fucking piece of shite, you're going to get back in your car and you're going to drive away, and if I see any part of you within ten feet of Miss Granger again, I can assure you that my face will be the last sore sight you ever see in this lifetime, do you understand?"

Cormac issued a series of curse words and was promptly jerked by the back of his head. Within seconds, he was whipped around and propelled backward, back shoved hard against the passenger side of his car, with one of Severus's hands coiled tightly around his neck. With his elbows, Severus had Cormac's arms locked and unable to fight back.

"As of this morning, McLaggen, consider yourself expelled from university."

"_What?_" Cormac choked out, eyes widening as large as saucers.

"You heard me, you bloody delinquent! You try to step one fucking toe onto this campus again and I'll have security up your backside. Don't make this worse for yourself than it already is, boy."

Cormac floundered to try and free himself, his face slowly turning purple the longer Severus held him by the throat. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Severus released his life-threatening grip, seized Cormac by his coat, and flung him sideways onto the quiet, deserted street. Hermione watched with a mixture of fear and amazement as Cormac staggered to stand, eyed Severus in horror, and dashed to the opposite side of his car, scurrying into the driver's side like a frightened animal with his tail between his legs.

Hermione was too numbed with shock to gather herself fast enough. Thankfully, Severus was thinking clearly, for he heaved her onto the curb in a flash, as though she weighed nothing at all, just as Cormac's car screeched to life and took off at full speed, leaving tire marks in the pavement.

It took Hermione a few reeling moments to realise that Severus had not only just rescued her from a potentially very bad situation but also saved her from getting run over by Cormac's car. She was quaking from head to toe—tears forming in her eyes—when the terrible shrieking of Cormac's tires died away as her grasp of the dire situation heightened.

"Are you all right?"

Hermione startled and peered up into Severus's worried countenance. His brow was furrowed in concern, his eyes boring intensely into hers. She blinked back her tears and attempted to collect herself on the sidewalk.

"I... I - I think so."

"Here," he insisted ever so gently, "let me help you up."

Hermione was painlessly tugged underneath her arms and back on her feet within seconds, shaky and ungrounded as they were. She was forced to grab ahold of Severus's arms to keep herself steady, her heart still beating relentlessly against her chest.

"We need to get to university security. McLaggen needs to be reported at once."

"N - No, please," Hermione found herself opposing, and one of Severus's eyebrow arched, prepared to challenge her stance.

"Miss Granger, that sort of behaviour is_ not_ to be tolerated. He attacked you and tried to force you into his car."

"I know. C - Can we just...phone in a report?" she beseeched, not trusting the sound of her own voice. "I just... I need to sit down. _Please..._"

Severus sighed, the signs of Hermione's distress clearly evident. She desired to clear her head and was trembling in front of him. Refusing her felt entirely wrong-footed, so he conceded with a soft purr.

"Very well. Do you think you can walk to our café on the next block?"

_Café... _Our_ café... Our spot..._

"Yes, I - I think so...if you'll help me?"

The gentle, reassuring smile Hermione received was precisely what she needed to keep from bursting into tears. "Of course," Severus agreed with ease, and, for the first time in minutes, Hermione felt like she could breathe again, and that everything was going to be all right. Severus slowly wrapped an arm around Hermione's waist, allowing her to lean on him for support.

"I've got you, Miss Granger."

"Hermione," she replied halfway down the block; Severus turned to glance down at her but said nothing. "Please, Severus, outside of the classroom...call me Hermione?"

* * *

The next several weeks passed in a blur of activity. Between her classes, friendly gatherings with old friends in between spots of intense studying or homework, and examinations, the Christmas holidays fast approached like the dense storm of falling snow that coated the university grounds by the end of November.

Cormac McLaggen was expelled following harassment charges, and Hermione's name was kept out of the papers whilst the high-profile McLaggen family's was dragged through the mud. Harry and Ron were practically foaming at the mouth seeing the 'twisted bastard' ridiculed and humiliated day after day in the press but without being able to offer any choice words themselves. Hermione, meanwhile, couldn't wait for it to all be over and behind her. She hadn't informed the boys about Professor Snape's involvement in rescuing her from McLaggen's clutches, but they found out anyway when details of the incident were somehow leaked to the press the following month. The boys were dumbfounded, and questioned Hermione more than once about the extent of Severus Snape's participation.

"Yes, Harry, he really _did_ stop him," Hermione grumbled over dinner late one evening in the university cafeteria. "If he hadn't been anywhere nearby, I'm fairly certain McLaggen would've gotten me into his car."

Harry and Ron appeared as if they were either going to be physically ill or throw their trays across the room. Luckily, the boys did neither, but they remained in disbelief over the good deed the one-time louse of a professor had done on their friend's behalf.

"I'm so glad he was there, 'Mione," Ron expressed to her another snowy afternoon as they trudged home to the warmth of their flats. "I hate thinking what might have happened to you otherwise..."

"Well, don't," Hermione urged him, patting Ron's shoulder. "I'm all right, _really_."

In fact, aside from having to recount the incident at an upcoming court date set for January, things couldn't have been more all right in Hermione's private world. She and Severus were getting considerably closer to one another, especially in light of what had happened that ruinous Saturday morning in mid-November. They'd discussed the incident often enough, both immensely grateful that Severus had happened to be at university that morning when he normally wouldn't have been, choosing to visit the library to check out a book for his research before chancing a trip to the café on his way out.

It was during their first few encounters following McLaggen's attack, when Hermione was at her most fragile, that Severus first wrapped a wiry arm around her and hugged her close, refusing to let go until she told him that she was all right. By their third meeting, Severus had reached across the table and squeezed Hermione's hand. Hermione was surprised and he'd hastily pulled away a moment later, apologising multiple times for making her at all uncomfortable—seemingly thinking the comfort he'd attempted to provide had been in error—but Hermione responded not as the professor expected. She extended her empty hand across the table, silently insisting for Severus's in return. Slowly, delicately, he'd granted what she'd wanted, and they both sat in silence for some time after that, holding tight to each other's hands without conveying a word, though there was no mistaking the sparks that ignited when their fingers touched and intertwined.

Hermione was fairly certain she was falling for him. What was less certain, to her, were Severus's intentions; or if he at all felt the same stirring emotions and excitement as she'd felt for him for such a long time.

How did one even _ask_ in such an unusual circumstance as this, when she was the student and he her professor? _Why doesn't this feel wrong?_ she often questioned when she was alone, but the answer always failed her.

They were seeing each other often enough outside of the classroom that Hermione was certain that, sooner or later, Harry and Ron were going to start inquiring as to why she never picked up her phone when she should be otherwise available to meet with them. Someone was bound to find out, but, as Hermione reminded herself, _He's only my professor till December._

_Yeah, so?_

_So..._

_You actually think he'd_ date _a former student of his? You?_

_Why not? I... I_ think _he likes me, too..._

_You only think that; it doesn't mean it's necessarily true. For him._

_Fine then! I'll ask him!_

_Good luck with that._

_Huff!_

_You'll just ruin the friendship you now have, Hermione. Do you_ really _want to jeopardise that?_

Hermione felt wedged between a rock and a hard place, but it was becoming increasingly trying to deny her feelings. Any brush of a hand, a warm embrace when they greeted each other or said their farewells, or the intense eye contact they shared wrought Hermione's ability to keep matters strictly friendly. Severus showed little evidence of the same emotional struggles, which only left Hermione second-guessing his sentiments.

It was the third week of December when Hermione's control finally skid out of whack. She had just had her last Plant Sciences lecture with the professor, which had been a bittersweet one for her alone (evidently, very few others claimed that they would miss Professor Snape's 'intense, arse-kicking' class). They were en route to the café for an early lunch together, when Hermione could no longer maintain the pretence that all was well and innocent between them.

Severus had been unusually quiet after class ended and had been silently packing up his belongings when Hermione approached his desk, a sour pout emerging on her face when it became painfully obvious that he had no intention of saying anything to her lest she do so first. He was taking far too long placing his things in his satchel, all the while refusing to meet her eyes.

"Severus?" she chanced asking, speaking ever so softly. "Would you like to join me for lunch?"

Severus made a strange sort of sigh, gave her an impenetrable look, and nodded in agreement. He said nothing as he led the way out onto the frigid walkway, and seemed more uptight and withdrawn than she'd experienced in what felt like ages.

"Is something wrong?" she'd inquired after a few awkward minutes passed in silence; Severus didn't talk, only slightly shook his head. "You seem...upset." He shook his head more emphatically, absentmindedly fiddled with his spectacles, and carried on.

By the time they'd reached the front gates, Hermione was gnawing at the bit. _This is stupid!_ she told herself. _Just tell him and get it over with! If he rejects you then you'll know how he feels._

"Severus, stop."

Severus was a foot ahead of her and turned around, that inscrutable expression of his infuriatingly intact. Hermione swallowed, stepped closer, and put on a brave face. It was now or forever hold her tongue, and what then?

_You'll always regret not saying something..._

"I have something I want to say, but I don't want you to say anything till I'm done, all right?"

Severus made a near suspicious raise of one eyebrow but his dark eyes conveyed that he would listen, and not breathe a word. Hermione sucked in a breath, shivering against the winter chill, though she wasn't sure if it was the weather entirely that had her suddenly so fidgety and shivery.

"I... I'm so glad I've gotten to know you the past few months. I never thought you and I would have that much in common—or anything to talk about, really—but you've surprised me...a _lot_. You're a good and honourable man, Severus; you're smart and funny when you let your guard down. I've learned so much and I don't know how I'll ever repay you for that. It's been truly..._lovely_...hanging out with you.

"I... I hope it's been the same for you and not a burden or obligation to hang out with me."

"Hermione—"

"You said you'd let me finish," she chuckled, and Severus's thin lips merged together; she could sense the glimpse of a smile penetrating his eyes and that instilled her with some much needed confidence to continue. "I confess, and I have no experience in this department, so forgive me if I'm terribly out of line, but, if I don't tell you I'll... I'll spend way more than just the Christmas hols regretting not expressing how I feel."

Hermione inhaled sharply and gazed up into Severus's alabaster face, her heart lodged in her throat. "I... I've fallen for you, Severus. I know it isn't right," she added in haste, looking away so as not to catch sight of his impending rejection, "and I know you probably think I'm far too young for you and out of your league and, yes, I _was_ your student for a couple months, but, now, I'm not, so I..." She chanced searching his features again, though afraid of what she would find. "I'm in love with you, Severus, and I... I'm sorry if I've just completely ruined the nice friendship we've had."

Hermione didn't peer long enough into Severus's eyes to ascertain whatever he might be thinking. She frowned and cast her sight towards the snowy ground, not really noting that Severus had taken a noiseless step closer to her, his square-toed boots almost touching hers. Unexpectedly, graceful fingers cradled her jaw and pushed her head upward. Hermione didn't fight Severus's wishes to look at him and locked sad eyes with his, stunned out of her bleak misgivings when she found the man was...smiling? No, just those black eyes. He was actually _smiling_—suggestively—down at her, those curvaceous lips of his in want of tasting.

"Hermione," her ears barely registered that velvety, deep purr that spoke so close to her face; she shivered excitedly, "you have no idea how long I've waited for the possibility of doing this..."

Hermione couldn't have foreseen what was coming, and she would expel a great deal of effort trying to figure out the signs later on, which, apparently, had all been there on his part that she'd somehow missed. Severus's face came down to hers, and, at long last, she and her once intolerable professor, now the former, shared an unanticipated but gratifyingly slow, tenderly rendered kiss in the snow.

Hermione's insides fluttered, her mouth felt consumed with heat and passion, and she instantly closed her eyes to better commit the divine texture and taste of Severus's lips to memory. Without knowing, she moaned, leaned into him for more, and was silently wrapped within his tenacious, wholly accepting embrace, soft snowflakes gracing their eyelashes and noses as they shared their first snog outside the university's front gates.

Gradually, Hermione opened her eyes; her lips were suddenly cold and in desperate need of Severus's warmth. She slinked her arms around his back and craned her neck, breathless, as she peered up at him, this time with hope.

"Since when?" she murmured, smiling as he bent lower to nuzzle their noses together.

"Since I thought I'd lost you and that brilliant mind of yours that day in my office."

"Really?"

"Indeed."

Hermione giggled and nudged her nose against his. "Does this... Does this mean I haven't managed to botch things up between us?"

"If you have, than it is _I_ who only took matters from bad to full-blown fuckery." After Hermione was through laughing, Severus studied her seriously, sending Hermione's heart rate aflutter. "I'm much too old for you, Hermione..."

"I know."

"I'm stubborn and set in my ways."

"I know."

"I still have a sharp tongue at times, and will probably use it on you unintentionally."

"And I'll throw it right back in your face."

Severus's frown strengthened. "I'm a difficult man to love."

Hermione's good humour disappeared, replaced by an inexplainable determination and a much fiercer regard than before. "Oh, I agree, you aren't an easy fellow to fall in love with; or I wouldn't be standing here, would I?"

Hermione could see Severus's shrewd mind working overtime, wanting to trump her somehow. "I'm rubbish at relationships."

"I probably am, too."

"I don't have much experience."

"I have none."

Finally, Severus's shoulders caved. As Hermione reached up to stroke his cheek, Severus mumbled defeatedly, "We're destined to be a disaster."

Hermione broke into laughter once more, and Severus's smile reappeared. "Probably! But, we'll be a mess together."

"Very well," he consented with a heavy sigh; he stepped back and tucked Hermione's hand into his. "To lunch then?"

"To lunch," Hermione consented happily.

_And to who knows where else..._

* * *

**11 Months Later**

It was a rather brutal Sunday morning in the middle of November as Hermione rubbed her mittened hands together, hoping for a bit of added warmth. At her side, a tall, brooding-like gentleman wrapped his long, raven-coloured coat around her back and bundled her close. Hermione smiled and leaned into his chest, smiling with giddy anticipation.

She remembered the thrill and excitement that surrounded her on this day well from when she had been a little girl. It was a spectacle of wonderment, and she'd never forgotten it since. From the elaborate floats that paraded down the streets, the brass bands barrelling Christmas carols, the cycling clowns who waved to the crowds, and the Piets—"elves," as her father had explained to her curious six-year old self years before—who tossed sweets to the children filling the sidewalks, Hermione had been enthralled from start to finish. Her dad had picked her up and put her on his shoulders so that she could get the best view of the parade in town, followed by the arrival and speech from Sinterklaas on the balcony of the Stadsschouwburg later that afternoon.

Hermione was enlivened to be sharing this experience once again after a lapse of so many years, only this time she was doing so with her boyfriend of nearly a year, Severus. He'd surprised her earlier that week with a planned trip to Amsterdam, and the two gladly stole away from university life for their first excursion as a couple.

They'd spent the majority of their visit to the beautifully old city travelling around on foot, eating Dutch food and stopping at random cafés, and even had dinner with Severus's long-time colleague, Minerva McGonagall, an austere but friendly old woman who was highly impressed with Hermione's credentials, so much so that she suggested that Hermione apply for a position at the University of Amsterdam come the end of her undergraduate studies in the coming spring.

All in all, their weekend getaway could not have gone better, and solidified both of their beliefs that they were meant to be. Not that there had been any doubts.

Lastly, Severus and Hermione were taking in the traditional Arrival of Sinterklaas in the heart of the city before heading back to university. Severus had been considerably quiet throughout the parade, mostly holding tight to Hermione whilst she cheered and waved enthusiastically with the rest of the lively crowd of spectators surrounding them.

Now swathed in Severus's coat and pleasant body heat, Hermione glanced up at him, an all-knowing smile stretched across her blushing cheeks. Severus wasn't frowning, merely observing the scene, undoubtedly drawing his own conclusions about the madness in process.

"So, what do you think?" she asked, speaking loudly in order to be heard over the chiming bells and roar of the crowds.

Severus blinked, stared down at her, and hissed into her ear, "I was thinking about the maddening things I endure for your sake."

Hermione swatted his chest and snaked her arms around him. "Rubbish! This is fun, isn't it?"

"It would be more appealing if I could hear my own bloody thoughts."

Hermione smirked. "Are you ready to go then?"

"Nonsense," Severus quipped, surprising Hermione; she reared back to see him better. "Sinterklaas hasn't yet arrived."

"Are you suggesting what I think you're suggesting?" she teased, which earned her a playful glare.

"Don't get cheeky, minx. There is only one thing I'm certain of, and we shall leave it at that."

Hermione pressed her hands against his back. "What's that, Severus?"

Severus, who had been glancing out at the parade, turned his head, that silver hair falling gracefully against his spectacles as he inched closer. "_You_," he confessed into her ear.

Hermione was lost for words but grateful for the adamant peck to her forehead she received the next moment. She cuddled into Severus's warmth and peered out at the parade from her secure, comfortable perch in his arms. As much as she was enjoying this energetic ritual, she was far more content in the knowledge that she wouldn't be leaving this wondrous city alone. She had Severus now, and he would be with her, at her side, for whatever lay ahead.

* * *

**A/N #2: Thank you for reading. Reviews are always greatly appreciated.**


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